SixtyFour Black & White Squares
by Angel of the Lord
Summary: In the aftermath of Graduation day Faith awakes from her coma to find a very different California from what we know. A California overrun with demons, where friends are enemies and enemies are less than friendly. [Warning: I enjoy character death :p]
1. Queen's Gambit

**Author's Note: **"Re-vamp." Bigger, badder and better than... previously.

**

* * *

Disclaimer (I): Person and/or thing that disclaims. A thing that is claimed not. **

**Disclaimer (II):** I own not, claim I. Only the concept, which I have had from the second Richard Wilkins III uttered, "well, gosh," on that fateful day so many years ago. The blond bitch. Anyway, I hold on to that concept claim with a vengeance. Or at least this particular version of it.

* * *

**Sixty-Four Black and White Squares**

by

**Angel of the Lord**

_

* * *

In a world of infinite possibilities, where a yes here brings life, while a no causes death, what if someone flipped a coin the other way? In our world Buffy the Vampire Slayer has already retired to Italy, having defeated Mayor Wilkins and the rogue Slayer Faith in quick succession many years earlier. But what if that hadn't been the case? What if Mayor Wilkins hadn't gone "boom"? _

_Well, I bet he'd be pretty gosh darn angry with that little blond Slayer._

_Don't you think?

* * *

_

**Chapter One: "Queen's Gambit."**

_

* * *

"There's more than one way to skin a cat. And I happen to know that's factually true." –_ Mayor Richard Wilkins the Third

* * *

"**Congratulations to the Class of 1999.** You all proved more or less adequate." 

Principal Snyder. Hideous little troll-man. Buffy made a face at the midget on the podium who had more or less made her high school years a living hell. All the demons and vampires that had tried to end her life over the years were preferable to the Slayer over that little weasel. Buffy sighed and squirmed in her seat, wishing they would just get down to it already. She scratched absently at the bandages on her neck. It still itched, where Angel had… The Slayer shook her head. _No. No thinking of Angel. _She forced herself to pay attention to her soon-to-be-ex-Principal. There would be time for her heart to be ripped out of her chest later. Right now she had an Ascension to stop.

"This is a time of celebration, so sit still and be quiet," Snyder continued. He narrowed his beady black eyes, scanning the crowd. Jaw movement in row three caught his attention. Male, Caucasian. _Bradley Somers. _Thank God the Somers' boy had a rich Daddy who could buy his son's way into an Ivy League College. Snyder doubted he could deal with the extroverted leech for another year, not with new maggots being herded in next semester. Still, these… _children_ were on his watch, and would be so until the end of Graduation. He would not tolerate disobedience. Bradley would be spoken to after senior commencement, but for now: "Spit out that gum." Snyder returned to addressing the entire audience. "Please welcome our distinguished guest speaker: Richard Wilkins the Third." Row six. Female, Caucasian. _Patricia Stanley._ "I saw that gesture. You see me after Graduation."

A combination of enthusiastic and bored applause rippled throughout the sea of maroon robes in the courtyard. Over a hundred students had gathered in the quad for today's big day. It was the largest graduating class Sunnydale High had ever produced, and as Willow raced past her fellow students to her seat, she knew that was thanks to one girl.

The redhead dropped into an empty seat next to her best friend. Buffy gave her the standard "where have you been?" look, and Willow smiled sheepishly. Hopefully the Slayer couldn't smell werewolf on her. "Am I late?" she asked, a hint of hope in her eyes. "Did we fight?"

* * *

Richard Wilkins gripped principal Snyder's hand in his own. A friendly shake of camaraderie was exchanged before the taller man took his place behind the podium, looking very much at home in front of the audience. The Mayor cleared his throat and smiled a politician's smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Well," he began, from a cue card prompt. "What a day this is! _Special_ day. Today is our Centennial. The One Hundredth Anniversary of the Founding of Sunnydale, and I know what that means to all you kids." He paused momentarily for dramatic effect. "Not a darn thing. Because today something much more important happens. Today you all graduate from high school." 

The audience sat riveted, all eyes trained on the Mayor. Oh, if only this were an election year and these young pups were old enough to vote. But fortunately in a few moments elections won't matter anymore. He flipped cards. "Today all the pain, all the work, all the excitement is finally over. And what's a hundred years of history compared to that? You know what kids?"

* * *

From her seat a few rows away from the stage Buffy cringed. She slid down into the chair a little. "Oh my God," the blond moaned in a hushed voice. He tone was one of disbelief. "He's going to do the entire speech." 

Willow pouted in disgust. "Man, just ascend already."

"Evil," the Slayer confirmed.

* * *

"For all of you it may be that there is a place in Sunnydale's history, whether you like it or not. It's been a long road getting here. For you. For Sunnydale. There has been achievement, joy, good times... and there has been grief." He trailed a little, his thoughts still with the brunette Slayer –_his _Slayer- lying so frail in that hospital bed. "There's been loss. Some people who should be here today aren't." His eyes moved to the face of that blond whore who hurt had hurt his girl. "But we are." 

Mayor Wilkins' speech continued. His words filtered through with dark tones and the Slayer began to feel that tingle, that low down buzz that signaled a fight was about to begin. "Journey's end. And what is a journey? Is it just distance traveled? Time spent? No. It's what happens on the way, it's the things that shape you. At the end of the journey you're not the same. Today is about change. Graduation doesn't just mean your circumstances change. It means you do. You ascend to a higher level. Nothing will ever be the same.

"Nothing."

The sun flared briefly in protest, before being blotted out of the sky completely by the moon. Mayor Wilkins' eyes registered the event at the same moment everyone else had. The eclipse had hit. Larry's fingers squeezed the handle of the makeshift weapon Xander had issued him. Across the courtyard Philip opened his clarinet case. The short-sword inside looked heavy and dangerous in the dim light. Beside him Kristy had replaced her cell phone with a crossbow.

Behind the stand Mayor Wilkins winced, his face momentarily contorted in pain. He swallowed and shook it off. "And so as we look back on-" The Mayor's words found themselves cut short again. "-On the events that brought us to this day-" A third wave of pain hit him. White-knuckled fingers gripped the podium as he attempted to reassert control over his rebellious body.

Buffy removed her hat. The cardboard square bent easily in her hands as she watched the Mayor squirm on the dais. "Come on…"

"We-" In a tense silence the students of Sunnydale High waited as the Mayor struggled to finish his speech through the onslaught of mystical energy. "We must all-" The town's leader let out a yell of pain and students and faculty alike exchanged uneasy glances. The crowd was hushed as the man that had captivated its attention straightened his frame.

"It has begun," Richard Wilkins announced to those gathered. "My destiny. It's a little sooner then I expected. I had this whole section on civic pride…" He shuffled his cue cards, a little chagrined at having to leave out such important things. "But I guess we'll just skip to the big finish!"

Buffy and Willow shared a look. _Here we go…_

The Mayor grimaced. Half of his head bubbled out into a large lump, and his right arm shriveled with incredible speed, and then disappeared completely. Internal changes that had begun when Mayor Wilkins had ingested the Spiders finally manifested externally. His suit was shred into rags that fell around him as his form elongated. Horrible cracking noises echoed through the small quad and Buffy felt sickened as she heard the former human's bones shifting into that of an Olvacon demon. Teachers and parents screamed and fled in a hysterical panic as Mayor Richard Wilkins towered above them all, his mandibles clacking menacingly. Now it was time to feed…

* * *

Hissing above the school rooftops hovered a giant snake. The Slayer stood on her chair and threw off her gown. "Now!" Buffy cried. All around her students removed their ceremonial robes to reveal a small army of teenagers, armed to the teeth. The Mayor roared. 

"Flame units!" The Slayer called out. Larry jumped forward, along with a few other students she had seen around campus. They raised their weapons and blasted the Mayor with jellied gasoline. The flame arced and glanced across the Mayors skin. He roared in pain, rage and hunger and reared out of the firing squad's range. The smell of burnt snake filled the Slayer's nostril and she smiled grimly. He wasn't so invincible now. Buffy sent a nod to Xander.

The floppy-haired youth responded instantly to the brunette's command. "First wave!" A group of students stepped forward from behind the flame unit, crossbows at the ready. "Fire!"

Willow squeezed the trigger and her arrow flew in the volley of lance points targeted at the former Richard Wilkins. The rain of sharpened metal rods slammed into the hideous snake, piercing his hide in soft places between scales.

Moving like a cobra the Mayor retaliated. He lunged forward and his jaws snapped closed on a student in the first row. Buffy stared in shock as the snake devoured the girl from her biology class in one gulp. Around her, the makeshift army began to loose their nerve at the sight of one of their own getting the big chomp…

* * *

From his seat on the stage, Snyder watched with his beady eyes wide. Chaos was all around him and so he fell back on the role of a staunch disciplinarian. 

"This- this is simply unacceptable!"

* * *

At the back of the battle two other students followed Bruce's lead as he tried to make a run for it before the former Mayor made them the main course. Bruce took one last glance back in time to see his now ex-girlfriend Samantha leave this worldly plain via giant snake demon. _Wow. That could've been me,_ he thought and slammed into something. Someone, with something really wrong with his face…

* * *

Oz turned when he heard a girly scream coming from behind him. His eyes widened uncharacteristically in horror as undead monsters savagely killed people he _knew._ Vampires, nearly fifty so probably a whole nest, continued their advance toward the students at the top of the stairs. "Xander?" 

The other boy turned and assessed the situation in a matter of second, his Halloween "boot camp" being put to good use. "Arm bowmen." The Dingoes guitarist grabbed a longbow and an arrow along with several other students. The arrowhead, weighted with kerosene-laden gauze, was set aflame by another teen.

Oz looked to Xander for a signal. "Fire!"

The students released in unison. Several of the vampires were struck, and two dusted immediately with arrows in their chests. A third was given the slow agony of burning to death thanks to the poor shot of Vanessa. Oz made a face and reloaded as the vampire screamed before combusting.

Xander caught a quick glimpse of the other students combating the Mayor. He ducked quickly as Jonathan sailed through the air inches where his head had been before landing on several students and knocking them down. Xander winced in sympathy for his fellow comic-geek. Real fights were different to the ones Spider-Man got in to.

* * *

Students were dying all around her. The Mayor had already eaten three, stabilizing his new form further. Two more had been crushed by the monster's tail. At the other end of the quad still more fell to the fangs of vampires. 

The Slayer grimly called out to the surviving students around her. "Fall back!"

* * *

"Fire!" 

Again the bowmen followed Xander's command. A third volley of wooden death was let loose. Another two dust piles joined the others on the stairs. After loosing some of their force to _teenagers,_ of all creatures, a few of the vampires became disheartened. When the first one turned tail to run the others quickly followed only to find them confronted by another group of battle-ready warriors. Both groups paused, sizing each other up for a moment.

Percy West moved forward first, nearly pushing past Angel as he rushed forward to engage to enemy. The football player struck out at the closest vampire with a right hook that disoriented the creature long enough for him to ram a sharpened baseball bat through the creature's non-beating heart. A second member of the undead army launched itself onto Percy. The youth hit the concrete with a grunt and pushed off the ground immediately, rolling the Vampire off his back in a wrestling move he had learnt in Gym. Percy reached for the baseball bat that he had dropped but when he moved to finish the vampire off he found an arrow was already embedded in his target's chest. But that was okay; there were enough vampires for everybody…

* * *

Wesley ran forward with a yell, eager to be on the offensive. Eager to prove himself to these Californians who had insulted him so thoroughly. But when the male vampire's hammer of a fist collided with his jaw he realized that his plans would be of nil effect while he lay unconscious on the ground…

* * *

A heavy-set vampire slammed a ham-like fist down onto Angel's collarbone. The vampire grunted and fell to his knees. Above him loomed the fat vampire, grinning like he had already won the fight. Angel proved him wrong, coming up and under the vampire's guard and staking him with minimal effort. Through the screen of dust the heavy vampire left behind a she-vamp came charging through. She screamed and raked her claws down Angel's face. 

Angel pivoted, moving to the side and forcing her down with her own momentum. She was dust when his fist connected with the nose of a third vampire covered in tattoos. "Who you fuckin' wit, ese?" the third vampire hissed, pulling a switchblade free from his boot and waving it in front of the older vampire's eyes. Tattoo-boy's eyes suddenly widened and he dropped his knife. His dust was swept away into the battle.

Percy grinned at Angel. "Gotta be faster than that, man," he panted, wiping away a small trickle of blood that had escape from his bottom lip. "Behind you," he continued casually.

Angel spun and blocked just before a gangly male vampire managed to club him in the head. Angel grabbed the taller vampire's wrists and threw him over his shoulder to land by Percy's feet. The teen drove his stake-bat into the vampire's chest without hesitation. He stood and spun the bat in his hand like a baton. "I got four already. How 'bout you?" Before Angel could formulate a response the boy was off swinging. Percy smashed his bat into the back of another vampire's head, moving deeper into the war zone.

_Four?_ Angel thought. _Dammit._

The leather-armored vampire chased the high school boy into the fray. He was damned if he would let some teenager out-do him in a fight.

* * *

Jets of fire once again lashed out at the Mayor in an attempt to tame him. The heat of the weapons in the flame units' hands was scalding, but the prospect of letting the Mayor past to feed on them kept the students grip firm. Unfortunately their makeshift flamethrowers weren't built to be fired for so long at such high intensity. The packs were overheating. But what choice did they have? Shut their weapons down? 

Suddenly the debate became moot. On the right wing Larry's flamethrower cut out. "Shit," the large teen cussed, immediately dropping the heated metal funnel. He reached down to his side to grab his secondary weapon, a large steel pike, but he moved too slowly. The Mayor had already taken advantage, whipping his tail out and tossing Larry up in the air like a rag doll.

Larry had the strangest sensation of flight for a few precious seconds. Then the podium was in sight, and then the podium was millimeters from his head. His face slammed into the wood and the weight of his body twisted at an odd angle. The pike landed some feet away from his corpse.

* * *

Angel jumped over Wesley's prone form and landed a flying kick in the gut of a male vampire still a funeral suit. A second vampire, similarly dressed, hooked the champion in the jaw, making Angel stumble. The first funeral-vamp took a cheap shot at him while he was off balance and he almost fell. Almost. 

Flesh hit bone as Angel cuffed funeral-vamp A in the temple. The creature roared, his fangs glistening red under the dim eclipse lights, a sure sign of disobedience to the Mayor's "no feeding" rule. Funeral-vamp B tried to attack again but this time Angel was ready for him. With a quick sweep kick vamp B was flat on his back, and two fast jabs to his abdomen had him momentarily out of action. The vamp A swung low to catch Angel in the jaw, but the older vampire shook it off, catching the first funeral vamp's fist and pulling him closer. The stake wedged itself between the vamp's ribcage and disintegrated with the rest of the corpse.

Funeral-vamp B was half aware and trying to claw Angel's eyes out by the time the vampire had pulled a second stake from the waistband of his pants. Angel fell back and vamp B dragged itself on top of the Champion. Angel twisted his pinned arm and forced the weapon in his hand up. He missed the heart, only succeeding in ripping into the vampire's stomach. The creature roared and Angel threw it off him. He retrieved the blood-slicked stake from vamp B's stomach and shoved it into its rightful place. In the monsters heart.

* * *

Pandemonium raged in the quad. People were dying. They needed a hero. Buffy stood on her chair, trying to think how one Slayer could possibly save them all. Behind her the Olvacon snarled in fury.

* * *

Percy ducked a swing, dancing around his target like his dad had taught him. He jumped over the fallen body of a guy with glasses in a weird suit and cocked the bat up into swing position. The vamp ran at him, like he thought it would, and he waited until it… 

Was…

Just…

There! Wood smashed into the vampire's face, jamming shards of cartilage from its nose into the creature's brain. The vamp's body went into shock, dropping to the ground like a sack of flour. Percy grinned, staking it and then moving onto his next victim.

* * *

Principal Snyder was on his feet. He'd had enough of this nonsense. This chaos wasn't about to happen while he was alive. "This is not orderly. This is not discipline!" he called out to the violent mob raging before him. When that had no effect he turned his attention to Mayor Wilkins. "You're on my campus buddy!" The Mayor's head whipped around and all eight of the Olvocon's crimson eyes focused on the little troll man. "And when I say I want quiet, I want-" 

The Mayor's head snapped forward again and Snyder, detention slips and all were removed from the smorgasbord.

* * *

Buffy was torn between revulsion and morbid joy when the Mayor had eaten principal Snyder. The giant snake-beast reared up and roared again, intent on continuing feeding. "Fall Back! Get back!" Buffy screamed. This massacre had gone on long enough. She leapt off her chair and Willow was instantly at her side, as always. "Go!" she ordered. 

Willow nodded. "Good luck!" And then she was gone.

Buffy waited until the redhead had disappeared, fearing for her friend's safety. Once satisfied Willow was a safe distance away Buffy called out to the boy who had been her literal savior on more than one occasion. "Xander! Take 'em down!"

* * *

Xander reacted instantly to the Slayer's command, reaching into his back pocket, and withdrawing a stake of good, solid maple. "Everyone! Hand to hand! Everyone!" He shoved some stragglers into the fray with the vampires, hoping against hope that the "strength by numbers" technique would get them out of this alive. But already so many of their own had been killed… "Let's go! Move! _Move!_"

* * *

Angel threw another vampire in a Judo move that probably hadn't been used in over a hundred odd years, give or take. He turned in time to see Percy finish off a vamp that had been attempting to stab Angel in the back, literally. The boy gave Angel that cocky smirk, the one that the vampire was beginning to hate, before whacking one more of the endless wave of vamps with his bat. This time the stressed weapon shattered and the boy was defenseless. 

The vampire rushed to his aid, tackling down the vamp Percy had just struck. They rolled around on the ground for a few moments before one vampire came out the victor.

Angel stood, flicking the remains of the other vampire away from his eyes. "Hey, kid!" he called to Percy and tossed him his last stake. Percy caught the short stick and looked at it funny for a moment. "That's a _real_ stake," Angel noted, as Percy moved back into combat.

_Weapon…_ Angel's eyes scanned the remains of the battlefield. There was one, conveniently enough, a few feet away from him. An arrow from one of Xander's bowmen. Any stake is better than no stake.

From near the bottom of the stairs one ballsy vampire had taken it upon himself to rally the others. "Get the kids!"

* * *

The other vampires turned to charge up the stairs only to find themselves confronted with a small army of teenagers wielding everything from medieval weapons to tennis rackets. The battle escalated to a frenzied level as the Senior Class of 1999 attack the vampires assailing their school.

* * *

Michelle Porter, shortstop of the Sunnydale High Senior A Girls Baseball team went into the fight swinging with a bat she had "liberated" from her older brother Mark's room when Xander had explained to her… this. She had never seen so much violence before and it disgusted her. 

The steel bat made a whistling sound as Michelle swung it through the air, and a hollow clang when it struck one of the vampires' heads. A scream to her left alerted her to one of her classmates being in trouble.

Blond hair was buried under the disfigured face of a large male vampire. He had firmly attacked himself to Harmony's throat. Michelle grimaced at the vibrations that rippled down the bat as it struck Harmony's attacker's head, but still she raised the metal bat into the air and cracked it against the vampire's skull again.

* * *

Jonathan Levenson took in the sight of the death and destruction going on all around him. It was like Blade. The comic book series or the movie, but only the first one, when it was good. The creatures of the night ran up the stairs to slaughter the teens and Jonathan charged forward to meet them. Today, he would be Blade. Today, Jonathan would be the hero. 

He leapt off a step a few feet above the vampires, landing on two but ultimately knocking three down. But it seemed that was all he was good for as the vampires picked the small boy up and threw him back up the stairs and into his own people. There would be no heroics from Jonathan today, he realized as his head cracked against the pavement and he lost consciousness. He should have listened to his mother and stayed in bed that morning.

* * *

Alexander Harris had the vampire by the shoulders. The vampire had Xander by the front of his shirt. They both tugged and pulled back and forward, trying to get leverage on one another. Xander, surprisingly, was able to throw the supernaturally stronger vampire to the ground. His years of patrolling with the Scoobs had trained him in how to combat a vampire well and they weren't used to facing meals that could fight back. 

The floppy-haired teen leaned down and staked the vampire quickly and then reassessed the fighting force. The vampires were concentrating on the right half of the quad, while his own people were spread out everywhere. "Right flank! Close in!"

His soldiers didn't respond. "Close!" Still no reaction. They couldn't possibly have forgotten… "Jason and Paul! You guys are right flank!"

Finally the two boys moved in at the sound of their names. Xander shook his head. He was working with amateurs. He was working with amateurs and they were all going to die.

* * *

Angel tossed two vampires to the ground at once. He had been taking them on in pairs ever since that Percy boy had come wheeling in and slaying everything like a pro. A blond female vampire, who looked disturbingly like Buffy, took advantage of Angel's momentary distraction, kneeing him in the stomach. Angel winced and with the help of the other vampire the blond vamp tossed Angel into a hedge near the bottom of the stairs. 

"Traitor…" the she-vamp hissed to Angel. Beside her the male he had struck down, a vamp that had died a young boy with bright pink hair, grinned maniacally.

"Dead traitor…"

The older vampire rolled out of the bush, not bothering to spare words on the two vampires confronting him. Instead he threw the arrow he had plucked off the ground earlier as hard as he could. The steel head embedded itself into the boy vampire's eye. The pink haired thing recoiled, whimpering. "Lost your weapon," the blond one observed as she ran to attack.

"I'll make do," Angel grunted out as he managed to force a piece of broken stick he had snapped from the bush through the blond vampire's sternum. She exploded with a quiet _poof._

The little pink boy picked that moment to move in, stabbing at Angel with the arrow he had pulled out of his eye. Clumps of red and white tissue still clung to the tip and Angel couldn't help but back away. He didn't want eyepieces on him.

When the child struck out for Angel's undead heart, attempting to stake a vampire for probably the first time in his existence, Angel stepped back again and he missed altogether, swinging too low until he ended up burying the arrow into the soft flesh of Angel's thigh. The pink-haired vamp grinned, satisfied with his first attempt and went to tug the arrowhead free to try again. Angel grunted in pain. The arrow was stuck. The boy pulled again and Angel cocked his fist back before sending the boy-vamp reeling a few feet away. He pulled the arrow free from his own leg and held the thin shaft of wood tightly in a bloodied grip.

"You did that on purpose…" the boy began, spluttering. "You did that on purpose. You did that on-!" Angel forced the arrow home, silencing the child vampire forever.

* * *

Cordelia's heels clattered down the stairs as she rushed forward, stake in hand at the ready position. One particularly greasy male vampire targeted her immediately and charged for her without hesitation. 

Cordy pushed the sharp wood into the stunned vampire's chest. She watched the demon crumble with a look of disgust on her face.

* * *

All around the dazed Watcher trampled heavy feet as the battle raged on. Wesley kept his head covered with one arm and made a half-hearted attempt at sitting up. "How about some help here?" he called out timidly. 

A young woman, about Buffy's age, so he assumed her a student, took his hand and hauled him to his feet. Both Wesley and the girl waded through the fray toward the nearest exit.

* * *

The palm of Percy's hand had splinters from the weapon that big guy had given him. It was just a little sharpened stick and Percy decided he had preferred his bat a lot more. Still, he had to admit the stake did the job, as he plunged it through the shoulder blade of a short and stocky vampire. The wooden weapon did its job well.

* * *

The Mayor roared. This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. His vampires were _loosing_ to the high school students. This was his big day! The Olvacon hissed out angrily. Far below him a glint of something shiny caught the Mayor's eye. It was that darn blond Slayer, Buffy. And she had something in her hand. The girl held the object up higher so the Mayor could see it better. It looked remarkably like the present he had given Faith... 

"Hey!" Buffy called out to the monster towering above her. "You remember this?" Bloodstains on the knife disguised the weapon's beauty, but Richard –the Richard Wilkins that existed inside the Olvacon demon- knew it for what it was. "I took it from Faith. Stuck it in her gut. Just slid in her like she was butter," Buffy taunted, knowingly gambling her life. The Mayor gnashed his teeth and growled in malice. "You want to get it back from me...

"Dick?"

* * *

Through the hallways of Sunnydale High the Slayer weaved, with the Mayor hot on her heels. Buffy slid around a corner and through a set of swing doors into the main hallway of the school. The Mayor simply used his massive form to careen through the wall, destroying lockers and plasterboard in the process as he went full tilt to keep up with the nimble girl in the tight tunnels. The Slayer led him through the school's corridors to the central point of the Mayor's beloved town. The Hellmouth. 

Buffy pushed through the library doors. Behind her raced the Mayor, ripping up the passage like an out-of-control freight train. As the Olvacon smashed into the library the little Slayer vaulted over the banister and dashed into the stacks.

The smell of diesel fuel and fertilizer caused the giant demon to pause his pursuit. Instead of musty books the Sunnydale library was packed to the brim with explosives. Mayor Wilkins glanced around him, the expression of surprise lost on the Olvacon's demonic features. Those little Scoobies sure had put up a decent effort.

"Well, gosh," the Mayor uttered.

* * *

Buffy flew through the stacks and out of a window at the back of the library. Glass shards rained on the ground round her where she landed and she ignored the feel of one embedding itself in her hand as she joined Giles a safe distance away from Ground Zero. The Watcher glanced at his Slayer with relief. He had been terrified for her safety, but his job was to wait her for her. 

Buffy sent Giles a look and a silent command was ordered, _Do it._ Giles gladly pushed down the plunger, intent on bringing the whole school down around the Mayor. The detonator clicked in recognition, but the explosion never came. Giles pushed the plunger down again, and again there was no reaction.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Eight months later, Faith opened her eyes. **

* * *

Continued in the next chapter: "Pawn moves Two Spaces." **


	2. Pawn Moves Two Spaces

**Previously:** _During Buffy's senior year of high school she found herself confronted with two main foes, one from a little closer to home than the other. After putting her sister-Slayer and traitor Faith in a coma merely the night before the Mayor's plans had come to fruition Buffy had thought the battle would be won for the side of truth, justice and all those other fluffy-bunny ideals she held dear. Faith herself had even provided Buffy with the key to the Mayor's defeat. But when the final moment came the Slayer and her people tripped at the finish line._

_The bomb didn't go off.

* * *

_

**Chapter Two: "Pawn moves Two Spaces."**

* * *

"_You should never hurt the feelings of a brutal killer. You know, that's… uh, that's actually some pretty good advice." – _Alexander Lavelle Harris

* * *

**Her eyes were on fire.** Faith didn't know if that were true or not but she wasn't going to open them again in a hurry. The florescent lights burned the soft tissues that had been in the dark for so long. Faith moved her hand to wipe away the tears that the lights had brought forth from her eyes. She was moving so _slowly, _and everything _hurt. _The atrophied muscles responded at a snail's pace to her mental commands, worrying the Slayer. A fighter with slow reflexes could get very dead, very fast. Faith didn't know if that were true or not but she wasn't going to open them again in a hurry. The florescent lights burned the soft tissues that had been in the dark for so long. Faith moved her hand to wipe away the tears that the lights had brought forth from her eyes. She was moving so slow and everything _hurt_. The atrophied muscles responded at a snail's pace to her mental commands, worrying the Slayer. A fighter with slow reflexes could get very dead, very fast.

The burning pain subsided, but it was still several minutes before Faith opened her eyes again. This time the pain was less and she bore through it with grim determination so she could confirm her surroundings. It looked like a hospital room, with pristine white walls and polished linoleum floor. She was alone in the room, and with only one bed, the one she occupied, Faith doubted she had a roomie. On her left was the door. Beside her bed, on the little table, sat a large bouquet of flowers. Obviously someone was thinking of her, but she couldn't see a card. There were no windows in her room.

The Slayer sat up slowly, wincing as the muscles in her back protested at being moved after so long. An IV was pinned into the back of her hand. She pulled it loose quickly and tossed it aside, along with the sticky pads they had placed on her chest. _Hate needles. Pointy things._ Something tugged at the back of her mind. Faith was forgetting something, which wasn't entirely uncommon. The feeling of forgetfulness kept nagging at her mind though, and so the Slayer figured it must have been something important. Probably something to do with why she was in this hospital room.

Her hand landed on her side in a flash. There was no pain… only a mild discomfort. How could that be? That bitch Buffy had gutted her like a catfish. Faith threw off her blankets and pulled up the thin paper hospital garb. A scar, silver and long, marred her pristine white skin. The puckered flesh resembled the remains of an appendectomy, but the scar was higher. Bigger. Buffy had been looking for a killing strike, not a damaging one.'

At the thought of the blond Faith's blood boiled. She had to get out of the place and kill Buffy. The stupid Slayer would only get in the way of the Mayor's Ascension… Suddenly the fog that seemed to have settled over Faith's mind during her prolonged sleep cleared. Her injuries had long since healed… how much time had passed since she had confronted Buffy on the apartment rooftop? The Boss, what had happened to him?

Faith jumped out of the bed and her legs buckled underneath her. "Fuck," she cussed, and then slapped her knee in annoyance. Those muscles hadn't faired as well as the smaller ones in her arms and refused to co-operate all together.

The neural monitors, which had been bleeping in an annoying way ever since Faith had awoken were finally unplugged from her head when they were stretched past their limits. The machines flat-lined once more. The Slayer bit her lip and used the steel frame of the bed to haul herself back into sitting position. How was she supposed to fight when she couldn't even stand? This was ridiculous. And there was still that disturbing chill coming from behind that she needed to address. _Really gotta get me some clothes soon._

The little hairs on the back of Faith's neck rose when a tiny current of static electricity rippled through the Slayer's body. The tickle could only mean one thing. _Vampire._ It was comforting to know her senses hadn't been weakened like the rest of her body. Faith pulled herself back up onto the bed and rearranged the blankets over herself quickly. It didn't look quite right but it would have to do,

A series of clicks and grinding noises came from behind the door. Those locking mechanisms sounded impossible for the weakened Slayer to break through, and as the door scraped open along the floor Faith realized it was made of metal. Probably steel, thick steel. The hum of her vampire-radar started screeching in Faith's subconscious. She caught sight of an older-looking male vampire in a lab coat moseying into the room before she closed her eyes at went back to feigning sleep. Her act was convincing, built up from practice many years ago as a child.

"Come, come now. She's not going anywhere." The upbeat male voice must surely belong to the doctor. Following him into the room came two pairs of footsteps, one lighter and with the distinctive _click-clacking_ of high-heeled shoes. _At least the hearing didn't go as well, _Faith mused with a small amount of elation. The heavier footsteps moved to the left of her bed, standing next to the doctor. Faith was sure the lighter footsteps had ended up on the right.

"We prefer not to take any chances," came a crisp woman's voice, confirming Faith's suspicions. "We have detailed files on this woman, we are well aware of how much trouble she can cause." The "we" lady paused and Faith felt a soft brush of fingertips across her forehead. A little chilly, but she had a pulse, so the mystery woman wasn't of the undead variety, "When she is conscious, of course."

"Yes, well. As you can see, she's not conscious now," the doctor stated, his voice dripping with disdain at the woman's observation. Wherever Faith was at least the vamp/human relationship was as it should be. And, bonus. No British accent, so whoever this woman was she probably wasn't Council. Faith doubted those pompous assholes like recruiting Americans.

The third person finally spoke up. His voice was harsh and snappy, like he wanted to be anywhere but here. The man didn't even bother to try to conceal his derision "Then explain a few things to me, good doctor. For one thing, why does she look so messed up? Like she's been moving about?" The air shifted and for a few moments the man's voice came from below the Slayer's level as he reached for something on the floor that had caught his attention. "And for another, why is her IV out?"

_Oh, shit,_ Faith thought. The IV. She'd have to remember that for the next time she woke up in a random hospital with mild amnesia. The doctor took the man's discoveries better than Faith had, surprisingly.

"This one is a very violent patient," the smarmy doc began. It infuriated Faith, being spoken about behind her back _in front of her face._ But for the sake of actually escaping this well-disguised cell Faith had to reign in her temper and abstain from mauling this cheap excuse for a medical practitioner with her bare hands, at least for now. "She has been known to lash out at the orderlies sent to replenish her IV lines and, well, clean her up a bit. Comas are funny things like that. Each is unique, affecting a different part of the mind, depending on the trauma received when the coma was induced."

Coma? _Coma? _Buffy had put her in a freakin' coma? _"For how long?" _she desperately wanted to ask.

"And in her coma she has retained her desire to beat things?" the woman said snidely. Of course if Faith had managed to slay the vamp-doc she'd have to kill this whore next. The Slayer thought she might even be doing the world a civil service by disposing of the bitchy woman.

The doctor made a noise that could have been either a grunt of annoyance or a chuckle. "No. In Miss Wilkins' coma she _dreams_." He said it like that made her some scientific institution. Maybe it did, Faith didn't care. She was more interested in why the Doctor had called her "Miss Wilkins." "We get quite a bit of yelling from this room sometimes."

"So not dreams, but nightmares then?" the man asked. He sounded anything but curious.

"Mm-hm. Lots of "Buffy, don't!"'s and "F-ing' beech!"'s. She knows how to talk dirty."

The male ignored the praise and went for the bit that Faith herself was interested in. "Buffy… Summers? The other Slayer." He said it in such a way that Faith knew beyond a doubt that Buffy was alive and kicking, no matter how many weeks had passed between them. At least, if nothing else, she'd get to kill that little blond slut herself. But how did he know Buffy was a Slayer? If they knew that then surely they must know Faith is a Slayer too. _They really didn't think I would wake up_, she thought, mildly awed. If they had expected her up and about Faith figured there would have been enough padlocks, chains and straps covering the bed to make a dominatrix drool.

"So, what?" The woman asked, looking for clarification. "She thrashed about in her sleep-"

"And yanked her IV free," the doctor finished. "That's probably all we saw at the desk as well. No real brain activity, just her reacting to a dream." Well, there was a bit of luck. They might have been monitoring her vitals but there wasn't a camera in sight.

"Pretty violent dream."

"Like the man said, Lilah. This Slayer is a pretty violent girl."

"But still," the woman, Lilah, countered. Her voice a stern tone, like she was talking to a child. "It is in our client's interest to keep the Slayer as comfortable as possible. That's why we have these little monthly check-ups."

"To make sure you're doing your job," the man concluded. "Because if you're not doing your job, it'll look like we're not doing ours. And that will make us look bad. And we don't want to look bad."

A sharp sting penetrated the skin on the back of Faith's hand as the doctor made a new hole when he replaced the IV. The Slayer's eyes watered and she hoped it wasn't noticeable. Cold, dead hands replaced the receptors on Faith's chest and her skin turned to gooseflesh where he touched. Probably got his sick jollies out of it, too. Get that sorry excuse for a heart muscle pumping for a bit so that the blood can all rush _somewhere._ His hands that close to her breasts? She refused to even think about how vulnerable her body had been while she had lain in a _coma_ of all things.

"Mr Mercer, I assure you, this happens all the time." The doctor patted Faith's head hard, mushing her hair into the pillow. He sounded a little nervous. Whoever this "we" was that they kept talking about must have been a heavy hitter. "She's fine. Really. Let me show you the progress reports. Her injuries are healing up quite nicely. The external tissue has already completely sealed…"

The door grated against the linoleum floor as it closed behind the trio, leaving Faith alone in the room once more.

_So… Lilah and Mr Mercer are checking up on me for someone, huh? _Faith thought, opening her eyes and immediately removing the needle from under her skin once more. "Bastard," she croaked out. Her voice was a husky whisper after her vocal chords long dormancy. No matter. Feeling had almost returned to her arms, her legs and voice would soon follow. And then won't Mr Mercer and Miss Lilah's client be surprised when Faith got up and walked out of here on her own two feet?

* * *

"Soon" turned into four hours later until Faith was confident enough on her feet once more. It was difficult to manoeuvre around the small room without exciting her heart rate too much or letting the sticky pads be pulled free from her chest. Faith didn't want to tip her hand to the vamps until she was ready for them.

The Slayer had felt around the edges of the door, searching for a hinge or a bolt or latch, something, _anything,_ that would release the mechanism thus releasing her. No such luck. "Fine then," the brunette Slayer muttered in a voice that was more gravely than her usual tone but slowly coming back to it's former sensuality. Faith had tried to avoid conversing with herself as she put her body through series after series of stretches various people had taught her in an effort to limber the stiff muscles. People thought she was crazy enough without her talking to herself, or having a sock puppet buddy, or wearing a tinfoil hat so _they_ can't hear you thoughts. "On to plan B."

Faith scowled. She hadn't meant to say that name. Hell, she hadn't even said the name, just the letter in a different context, but it still tasted the same on her tongue. Dirty and sour and acrid.

The Slayer pushed dark thoughts out of her mind and moved to the edge of the bed, ripping one of the steel supports free, giving her a makeshift bat. She tore the monitors off her chest and then turned on the machines the wires were hooked up to. "A little property destruction never hurt anybody."

It had been so long since she had been able to hit and hit and hit and lash out wildly and freely, without any restraint. There was usually some annoying logic holding her back: numbers against her, civilians she needed to protect (though not so much of that lately), time constraints themselves. But it did her muscles good, made her sluggish body wake up properly, and the beeping and flashing machines were destroyed all too quickly.

* * *

In the nurses' station the three lizard-like Chrrang demons who served as orderlies in the hospital were alerted to the sudden status change in Faith's monitors through blinking lights line across the wall. Only one room on the floor was occupied, and if said occupant was flat lining like the indicators were showing then all of those involved were precariously close to loosing their heads.

Yellow reptilian eyes blinked with vertical eyelids and when the six foot tall beast turned to move down the hallway their scales rippled from purple to green in the changing lights. This was a stark contrast to the ill fitted stark white uniforms that they wore over their scaly flesh.

The demons galloped on all fours towards the girl's room. The vampire doctor intercepted them halfway and for a freak show snapshot the group barrelling down the hallway looked like something out of Hellraiser's version of ER. "What have we got?" The vampire demanded in a George-Clooney-wannabe way.

The demon hissed and chattered and the vampire nodded in understanding. "Better get a crash-cart too, then." If the doctor could still sweat he would be swimming by now. The Slayer was crashing. _The Slayer was dieing._ Swiping a key card only he and a select few other had he punched in his code impatiently with his other hand. The door took a few moments to acknowledge his identity, and more still to complete the mechanical sequence that was designed to keep the undesirable element out of the Slayer's room.

The doctor squeezed in through a small gap instead of waiting for the door to opened completely. He was anxious to save the Slayer. It wasn't that the doc liked the comatose brunette in anyway –on the contrary, he had been bought into affairs long after the dust had settled from that Ascension kafuffle. Nasty business, that Ascension. But the doc found he had run out of time for pondering the power plays of humans. When he was nearly halfway through the reinforced steel door a shaft of metal clubbed him in the face, once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time before the doctor had fallen.

Faith panted and adjusted her grip on the makeshift club. She hadn't even slain the vampire yet and already her legs were threatening to give out on her. The Slayer in her rebelled at the thought of giving up so easily and Faith brought the metal shaft up in a defensive position as a staff, just like her first Watcher had taught her to do. She waited for the door to open completely.

* * *

On the other side of the door the Chrrang demons watched in amusement as the vampire managed to get himself wedged between the opening door and the wall because of his impatience. The undead annoyance gasped loudly before kicking his legs out like a mule, and then dropping flat on the floor. The largest of the three Chrrang flicked out a forked tongue, scenting the air. Yes, the girl was awake.

The door opened fully, and through the threshold stood a thinner, more wiry Faith. Her muscle tone and mass had been lost to be replaced with a cruel looking thinness that only served to enhance the sneer on her lips. Her eyes had dark shadows under them, despite her prolonged rest. Faith's hair, which she had cut short not long after siding with Mayor Wilkins, had now grown long again. Down to her waist and the length she used to keep it at before she reached double digits in age, and her beloved chocolate locks had become a liability.

The three demons snickered at the pathetic looking girl in front of them. This was a Slayer?

Faith ran forward without warning. The demons had not expected the weakened girl to be the first to attack. The smallest of the three certainly did not expect the Slayer to continue sprinting toward it at full speed with an aluminium pole tucked under her arm like a lance. The bent, jagged end of the pole pushed its way through the soft tissue between the Chrrang's collarbones. The pole continued forward until the demon was suspended by the piece of metal that had been forced into the wall. From out of the wound spill purple ichor, the monsters lifeblood, and it instantly stained the white polo shirt. The lizard-thing made a gurgling sound before it coughed up bubbly blood.

* * *

The metal pole was blood-slicked and stuck in the wall. Faith tugged at it half-heartedly, knowing that her weapon was now lost to the building. And what a building it was. The brunette had run out of a bleach-white hospital room only to enter and equally ivory hallway. Faith gave the pole one more jiggle before relinquishing it to the wall. Now she was unarmed and in poor condition.

The largest of the two remaining Chrrang brought both fists down onto the Slayer's shoulder. Faith's body protested this sudden blow and she dropped to lie prone on the ground. The two demonic beasts waddled comically over to the Slayer on their hind legs. They needed their arms free to be able to pick the girl up and toss her back into the contained room. The biggest, the one who had struck her was grabbing her first. Faith didn't want to be put back into that cage. She forced her body into action.

Her leg struck out in a kick that would have made Xander laugh but she managed to catch her bare foot in the demons white shirt and pull herself a little higher so she could smash her other heel directly into the lizard demon's snout. The Chrrang grunted, startled, and dropped her. Faith crawled between the monsters legs and came out the other side. She took off running for the nurses' station, the only thing she could see down either stretch of white tunnel. The two demons pursued her closely.

Faith slid a little on the linoleum floor, the soles of her bare feet burning because of the friction. She ran into the alcove that was the nurses' office. Whether it was the coma weakening her or the demon's incredible speed one of the Chrrang, the smaller, stocky one who had held back from the fighting so far, managed to clear the desk in one leap and cut off Faith's path to wherever it was fleeing Slayers run to. The scaly beast roared in her face, revealing its many tiny and incredibly sharp teeth. Faith fell backward in shock, landing on her still rather chilly behind.

Instead of regaining her footing immediately Faith stayed on the floor long enough to reach for something she had seen under the desk while falling. He fingers had barely clasped the object when the demon wrenched her back up off the floor.

When the lizard demon had picked Faith up by her throat her initial thought was one of gratitude. At least the monster hadn't tried to pick Faith up by the hospital's paper smock. _That _garment was hanging hazardously by a few shreds on Faith's shoulder and looked like it was ready to flutter to the ground at any moment. The demon squeezed Faith's throat tighter, enjoying having a Slayer powerless in his grip when suddenly Faith pulled out the thing she had retrieved from under the office desk.

The fire extinguisher let out a stream of pallid halogen foam directly into the lizard sensitive mouth and eyes. The lizard released Faith, clawing at the chemicals that were getting inside its eyes and up its nostrils. Faith used the extinguisher canister like as a weapon, bashing the top of the lizard-demon's exposed head. The creature fell to the floor and Faith changed her grip on her weapon, now holding the canister near the nozzle and using the fire safety equipment at a bat, clubbing the purple demon until it stopped twitching.

The third Chrrang tried to tackle the Slayer from behind but she moved faster then the lizard-beast, spinning on her heel and launching the empty fire extinguisher canister at the large demon's face with all the forced she could muster. The steel connected with the bone right between the demon's eyes and the beast was temporarily blinded. It looked up in time to see Faith with a working fire hose and then the demon was forced back into the wall by a torrent of water. When the onslaught of freezing brown muck had ended the Slayer was standing above the drenched demon. In her hands above her head she held the PC they had recorded all her data on, and it was still plugged into the power socket.

Before either could contemplate the strangeness of the situation Faith drove the iMac down onto the demon's head. The screen shattered on the top of the lizard's flat skull and when all the circuits inside the plastic case collided together the Chrrang felt the pain of a good couple of thousands volts of electricity coursing through its brain.

* * *

The doctor felt his coat being stripped from his shoulders as he came to. Faith slipped the large garment over the scraps of paper hospital gown she still had and buttoned the entire coat up for decency's sake. The cuts that had yet to close completely –fresh cuts the Slayer had garnered only moments before- bled on to the white cotton, turning it brown in some patches. "Wha-?" the doc asked, propping himself up a little. He was still stunned from the quick-paced action earlier.

"Shut up." Faith commanded and kicked him in the face. The doctor groaned and she repeated herself. On the second round the doctor was silent. _Damn, a fast learner. _The last vamp she had played this particular game with hadn't shut up for hours. Not until he'd lost his voice from screaming. Faith stood in the centre of the vampire's back and pulled his head up toward her by his hair, intentionally contorting the doctor in a painful manner.

"I only have one question for you," the Slayer whispered menacingly into the vampire's ear. "And you better pray that you get it right." She released his head and he flopped back down to the floor. But dammit, he was still silent, so she couldn't tell him to shut up again. Faith kicked the doctor in the ribs simply because he wasn't acting tortured enough. "I heard ya talkin' about her before, so I _know _you know where she is. You know?"

She didn't bother waiting for an answer. Instead she fiddled with the door controls to her cell until she had pressed the right button. The heavy door creaked and began to close. The doctor didn't like the look of this and tried to squirm away but Faith had her foot firmly planted in his back. "Uh, uh, uh," she sang, shaking her head slightly. "I haven't even asked my question yet." The door scraped closer. "Where," Faith said slowly, enunciating each word. "Is. Buffy. Fucking. Summers?""

"I-I don't know!" the vampire cried out.

Faith hissed. "Wrong answer," and then the Slayer forced the vampire's head closer to the floor so that the undead creature could see the metal edging its way closer. "Where is she, mother-fucker? I know you know!" The vampire screamed as the edge of the metal finally reached its forehead and applied pressure.

"Okay! Okay!" he sobbed. "Last I heard the Council had relocated to-!" and then the door had cracked through the vampire's weak skull, demolishing the fiend's brain and the easiest way to find Buffy. But that was okay, because her revenge would keep. Faith would just have to think of a better way to find her errant sister-Slayer, and then her vengeance would be doubly sweet because of all the waiting.

"Fuck!" the Slayer cussed, and smashed her fist into the nearest wall, cracking the polished and antiseptic-treated surface.

* * *

Once Faith had left what she had discovered was her own private ward she had nearly vomited. The hospital walls -because that's what she barely recognised it as, Sunnydale General Hospital- were all tinted various shades of pink and red with what looked like multiple slaughters. The blood was all at different degrees of drying. Faith moved silently down the hallway to where she thought the exit should be.

"Ki… kill…" The voice was weak and ragged and belonged to a young man strapped to an operating table sitting by itself in the middle of a hallway. His body was bound to the table by belts, and the flesh that could be seen under them had been rubbed raw. The boy had been there for a while. And he was thin, so thin Faith could see his lips were starting to pull back over his gum in a horrible grimace. How had they kept him alive for so long in this condition? The Slayer's eyes trailed down his body and she realized he wouldn't be alive for much longer. The youth's stomach had been sliced and pinned open and Faith could see things moving inside of him… _Maggots…_

The girl stumbled back away from the suffering man and threw up near the wall. It was all too much. Just when she thought things couldn't possibly become any worse her Slayer-senses tingled. Demons were heading her way and Faith quickly ducked out of sight away from the man, behind what used to be a vending machine of some kind. The boy kept his gaze on her, still whimpering for her aid. "Ki-ill… me… please…"

Two more of the orderlies showed op to roll the suffering man away. One of the lizards took it upon itself to tear off one of the man's ears and chew on it like a tasty treat while they were wheeling him away.

Faith leaned back against the wall and inhaled deeply. She was not going to hyperventilate. She hadn't done it before and she wasn't going to start now. No-sir-ee-bob. Because hyperventilating was for nerds. Once Faith was satisfied her breathing was under control again she set off again, her pace far quicker than before as she searched for the hospital's exit. She had to get out of this madhouse and quick.

From then on the girl stuck to the shadows, avoiding both Hospital staff and patients alike.

* * *

Faith crawled though the ambulance that had wedged itself halfway inside the hospital's waiting room. When she jumped out of the vehicle's back door she found her eyes once again assaulted by bright light. Outside the sun was shining and Faith realised it had to be late afternoon, judging from the star's position in the sky. She couldn't tell whether it was day or night while she was racing down the endless passageways of Sunnydale General. As a safety precaution all the windows were boarded up or painted over, so the vampires could move about freely inside the hospital, she assumed. Luckily it was still daytime, so the Slayer didn't have the added pressure of vampires out and about on her mind yet. Her head was spinning as it was. Maybe coma patients were supposed to wait a week or something before they can go back to killing things.

Outside the hospital there was no life of any kind to speak of, not even the supernatural variety. The death and destruction theme continued throughout the rest of Sunnydale as far as Faith could see. Everything was so desolate. A mini pile-up had been caused in front of the hospital and now all three cars involved were burnt out husks. Glass from their windscreens and windows was strewn across the pavement and Faith really wished she had some clothes. She may have been from Boston but only standing around was making her feel the cold. If she stayed in the lab coat she was going to get sick, fast.

Beyond the hospital driveway Faith found no sign of people. No sign of living humans, anyway, as she pointedly ignored the decomposing torso seated at the bus stop, looking for al the world like it was waiting for the bus. What was left of the man's limbs was half-shoved down an open manhole nearby. Faith kept her eyes ahead and continued walking.

Somebody was sure to find the demon bodies and the vampire doctor's dusty remains in the Slayer's wing sooner or later. Then they would be after her again. Faith thought she had better put some distance between herself and the hospital while she still had the chance. If not, and the hospital staff caught her, she may not have the opportunity to escape again. Not if Mr Mercer and Miss Lilah's "We" are as powerful as they were made out to be. The Slayer broke into a paced jog as she ran through the deserted downtown Sunnydale, hoping she would make it closer to the residential area before nightfall.

* * *

Wesley threw the bottle of scotch against a large oak tree. Theresa had gone off again to God knew where. Probably off to see that blond freak and the bitch. They were so the "in" crowd, as Cordelia would have once put it. No matter. Wesley was sure he could entertain himself for a bit while the little miss was out. He stood thinking for a while and then reached into his bag for another bottle of alcohol.

The liquid burned down his throat. That was the reason why he preferred spirits. You could really _feel_ yourself getting drunk. And you could get drunk quickly, which was always a bonus. After all he had seen and done since Theresa had pulled him free from that raging mob during the Mayor's Ascension he needed the fiery liquid to burn away a few days of his week at a time. Had things been this fucked up when he was still with the Council? The ex-Watcher couldn't really tell. To him it seemed as if he had traded in one hell for another. He had another drink. He _needed_ another drink.

That little tramp had caused nothing but suffering in his life. Circumstance was really the only thing that kept them together, and even that had a tenuous hold.

He wanted it to get dark, already. Nothing interesting ever happened in Sunnydale until after the sun had set. A day out in Weatherly Park had seemed like a good idea until he had actually headed out there and then that bloody woman had scampered off with those damn attention seeking drama queens. She had stood him up and left him in a place that was completely dead.

Or not quite dead.

Across the street, weaving in and out of the trashed cars and building rubble was one of the few urchins left in the town. A gutsy one, too, if she were running down the street this close to sunset. Wesley moved deeper into the shadows as the girl approached. She ran past the chain-link fence that separated Weatherly Park from the rest of the town, not noticing the figure watching from behind an evergreen.

The former Watcher, for his part, was shocked into immobilisation at the sight of his former charge rushing down the street. Alone. And _bleeding_.

"Faith."

**

* * *

Continued in the next chapter: "Knights head into Play"**


	3. Knights Head Into Play

**A/N: **Yeah, it's just easier for me to delete the whole thing and edit it one chapter at a time. Too many little things that make me cringe, typos, misused words, niggly plot errors and the etcetera. The other two will disappear before being made sparkly and new again. Yayness for people remembering this though!

:) And I am a girl.

**

* * *

Previously: **_Eight months have come and passed since the Graduation Day of Sunnydale High's Class of 1999, and the Ascension of Richard Wilkins. Eight months since he had been fired from the Council. Eight months since he had seen the Scooby gang under friendly conditions. Eight months since he had been humiliated in battle. Eight months since he had seen _her_ last._

_Eight long months.

* * *

_

**Chapter Three: "Knights head into Play."**

* * *

"_Those boys aren't sparkling normal as it is." –_ Rupert Giles

* * *

**1630 Revello Drive was still standing.** The Summers' house was still standing. All around, houses had been burned down, storefronts had cars rammed through them. Buildings were crumbling. But in the midst of the apocalyptic landscape Buffy's house still stood. Typical.

Faith had made a point of kicking over the mailbox before she had gone inside.

She had expected the interior of the house to fair as well as the structure itself, but that was not the case. The front door was nowhere to be seen, and the wood that had held the hinges had also been ripped free from the building. The house had been ransacked. In one corner there was even evidence of a fire: the wallpaper and ceiling were scorched and flaky grey ashes had been spread all over the floor. She wondered absently if it was Willow's blood that had been splashed over the wall behind where the television used to sit.

Upstairs had faired a little better. Buffy's room was how she remembered it: looking like a bomb had struck. Clothing was strewn everywhere and the bed had been tipped over. Faith knew the signs. Somebody had been packing, and fast. A fine grey mist of dust had settled over everything. Too fine to have gathered over a terribly long period of time, but it was enough to be noticeable.

Even after all this time Faith thought she could smell the vanilla and strawberry scent that was uniquely Buffy lingering in the room. It was pleasant and tickled the exhausted Slayer's nose and for a moment Faith closed her eyes and imagined that none of the bad stuff had happened, that Finch had never happened, and she had just come over to see Buffy before patrolling. But Finch had happened and Buffy had betrayed her, blamed her for it. If the older Slayer hadn't been so self-fucking-righteous…

The tired girl sighed and flopped down onto the mattress on the floor. Her head hurt. The town was infested with demons and that special sixth sense that hummed every time something of the bad was near hadn't stopped screaming since the sun had set. There were vampires and demons crawling all over the suburban locality. She needed to get out of dodge, quick, but covering the distance from Sunnydale General to Revello Drive had taken a toll on her that wouldn't have happened had she been at full strength. "Just five minutes…" she muttered as her eyelashes fluttered shut.

* * *

It was dark by the time Wesley had caught up with her. He should have known she would head here. Everything always seemed to lead back to Buffy Summers.

The Summers' residence seemed to be the only house left on the street that wasn't trashed. Willow's protection spell was still working, even now. Wesley had to admire the witch: for a fledgling she had cast powerful magicks to save those who had once hid inside. But holes had been punched in her spell by enemy sorcery, and the thin sheet of wood that was the front door had done nothing to keep them out. He stepped across the threshold of the front door and entered a place he had never been before.

The ground level of the house looked as Wesley had expected, like a war zone. Or at least the remains of a war zone. But the Slayer wouldn't be down here. She was Council trained first and foremost, like he was, and like he, she would seek the high ground. He made for the stairs.

The old house was deathly silent and black as pitch. Wesley made his way down the corridor with his fingers trailing lightly along the wall and his feet shuffling along the carpet. To him, it didn't feel right to be in the house, disturbing old ghosts. It felt like waking the dead. This place was haunted. His hand moved over a bump and then into air. There was a space. An open door. He went inside.

A girl's room. The crescent moon was poor light but Wesley could see the frilly pillows, the make-up scattered on the floor. This was Buffy's room. Pink fluff caught the ex-Watcher's eye. He picked it up out of curiosity. It was a pink pig, fat and stuffed with its fur worn in places, so it was obviously much loved.

The movement was so silent and quick he almost didn't see it. But he did feel the sharpness of the blade pressed against his throat, and the short, keyed up pants of the woman behind him.

"Drop the pig."

"Faith-"

"Drop the fucking pig, Wesley." So, it seemed her prolonged absence had not affected her memory in any way. Nor her manners. Wesley released the pig and the stuffed animal landed on the floor near his feet. The black button eyes stared up at him sadly. Behind him the girl snickered. "You're such the bitch. Always followin' everybody's orders." The sharpness cutting through his skin was gone, She kicked him in the small of his back and he flew across the length of the room and crashed into a dressing table.

Faith took a step closer, brandishing the kitchen knife dangerously. She had kept the coat for warmth's sake but now had on a pair of loose sweat pants and a t-shirt. Her eyes held a malicious glint in the darkness. "How ya gonna follow orders when I break your legs?" She asked the man who had once been charged with her protection.

"Whatever will Princess Margaret do then?"

* * *

They were stationed In Country. 1st Lieutenant Finn had snorted at the suggestion that Redwood City would have been too dangerous a locale to set up fort. The Outbreak had already spread as far as San Francisco, but Finn had wanted his people as close to the Ground Zero as possible. FORSCOM had given him as much leeway as San Mateo. They were still almost four hours beyond Sunnydale's city limits. He had pressed the issue but the Washington bigwigs had denied him, saying the loss of civilian life had already reached unacceptable levels; they didn't need to send their own people to their deaths. The enemy was like a plague, an infection, spreading from town to town and annihilating every living thing in it.

The soldier didn't like being stationed so far away. The Initiative Laboratories were still intact. After Doctor Walsh had given the order to evacuate the underground facility and seal all the entrances no one had found a way back inside. The security system was still active, so Lieutenant Finn was certain that the Laboratories were secure. If they would let him take a small group of people, maybe twelve of his best officers, into the city they could station themselves inside the abandoned government location and relay tactical information from there. But Doctor Walsh had been adamant. The Initiative labs were off-limits without her or one of the senior lab-technicians accompanying them. They didn't want things "disturbed," she had claimed.

Lieutenant Finn had accepted the response, even if he felt hindered by their final decision. When he had accepted the assignment to capture and detain STs in the coastal town of Sunnydale he had been told he would be given information on a need to know basis. It seemed that even when the enemy was turning their own soil into infected property the bureaucrats still wouldn't bend the rules. But that was why Riley Finn had joined the Army in the first place. For the discipline.

There was a ringing sound when Finn fully extended his arms because the weights had hit the top of the pulley. When he slowly released the weight the stack of metal discs would sway a little, brushing against the machine itself before hitting the floor with a clang and then he would start the cycle up again. A plus about being stationed in the red zone. The towns and cities along the stretch of California that had been deemed enemy territory had been evacuated quickly and as quietly as possible by government personal, so Redwood City was deserted. No queue for the best machines at the local gym. No locals in the gym.

The main door was pushed open –there was no power- and the room briefly went dark as someone ran past the floodlight Finn had set up. "Did you hear?" A younger, greener soldier joined him. If he recalled correctly the ginger-haired nineteen year old was Private First Class Bennet, a transfer from the research teams stationed in the Amazon. Bennet was young, but the Amazon team had taken him on as a demolitions expert. Somebody had decided that the Sunnydale Outbreak needed him more. Finn hadn't truly realized how serious the disease was until they had started pulling soldiers from other research sites all over the world.

The Private halted in front of his CO and saluted. The older soldier paused his exercise for a moment to respond in kind. "Hear what?"

"The Council's pulling the Slayer out of Orange County."

"When?"

Bennet shrugged. "Not sure," he said. "Wasn't really even supposed to know this..." He had the good grace to look embarrassed and turn away.

The weights clacked together again as Finn continued his workout. "You were eavesdropping again, huh?" The younger man had a habit of listening in on conversations that had nothing to do with him.

"Yeah, well. If I didn't we would never know anything," Bennet justified dryly. "And anyway, I thought they'd be dragging her out of the OC soon. That place has been swarming with Type 63s since the 6th Division pushed up to El Cajon. Guess they didn't want to hang around San Diego with our people so close."

"Guess not."

"Anyway, I think they're moving the Slayer to Richmond before they decide to send her back in again." Bennet picked up a light dumbbell and began standard arm curls. With approval Finn took note of his actions. Good to see the Private wasn't going to waste his time with only talking. "Maybe she'll come here for a visit." Bennet winked at his commanding officer. "I hear she's a real hottie. And I'm getting real tired of hanging around "this man's army.""

Lieutenant Finn stood, uncoiling from his seat to his full height, a good two inches taller than Bennet. "Private, I don't find those comments appropriate," the officer stated flatly. Bennet visibly swallowed and then saluted again for respect's sake.

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Finn shook the floor filth off his jacket and slipped the camouflaged coat on. The night was cool outside, and the walk to the hooch was a good ten minutes down the road. He set off at a brisk pace, with the Private quietly shadowing him. The younger boy seemed a bit put down from his scolding. Finn cleared his throat and attempted to get the lines of communication open again. He needed a good relationship with every member of his platoon to ensure the best results. It was why Captain Collins trusted him so much. "So, how did you come across this information, anyway?"

"Hmm?" Bennet responded automatically while the question processed in his brain. "Oh, I overheard the Captain talking with that Council courier that came in this morning. He said that the Council's mission was complete and that Lieutenant Bruce would be returned shortly." Both men grew sombre for a moment as they thought about the meaning of courier's words. Yes, the Council would send back Bruce, but out of the forty-man platoon he commanded how many of them would accompany him? Those damn Brits had a tendency to "loose" American soldiers along the way. The Council saw the Army's men as expendable and all of the soldier's knew it. "And then he said the Slayer was going to be up in the Richmond base with the Council's Operations teams for the time being." Bennet looked puzzled. "Why would they tell us that?"

"To ruffle our feathers," Finn answered logically. "They're flexing their muscles and warning us off their turf." His answer seemed to have sated the Private somewhat. The younger soldier accepted his commander's words as truth. The Lieutenant was fairly sure that he was right, too. They were announcing her arrival like she was the second coming. What they saw in this "Slayer" Finn had no idea, but he would have liked to find out.

The two soldiers approached the door of Redwood City's Bed and Breakfast, where their platoon was stationed. Bennet went to enter and Finn grabbed the younger man's arm. "Just out of curiosity," the Lieutenant began, making sure the tone of his voice conveyed to the Private that the question _was_ coming out of curiosity. "You just…_overheard _all of that?"

Bennet grinned. "Plausible deniability, sir. If anybody ever asks you can honestly tell them you didn't know." The younger man pushed open the oak door and made his way quickly inside, to where his comrades in arms were playing Poker and away from the scowling visage of Lieutenant Finn.

* * *

Faith sat astride Wesley's waist. She pulled him up a little by the collar of his shirt and he captured that hand with both of his own. The girl pulled away but Wesley's grip was strong so the Slayer hit him in the face as hard as she could. The man's head snapped back and hit the floor with a satisfying _thwap_. Faith's fist shot straight down and connected, this time with Wesley's abdomen. The Slayer let out a little a little cry as she struck him, because she knew she was going to kill him too quickly. This was the man who had been the source of her problems since the day he had shown his face on the scene.

She wanted him to suffer.

She gripped his chin with her fingers and pulled him up a little before hooking him in the face and sending him to the floor again. A second time she struck him, and a third, Wesley spat out some blood and mumbled something and then finally released the Slayer's arm. She pulled him up again and smacked him back down with her other hand before his words finally dawned on her.

"What did you say?" Faith demanded, pulling the man up to face her. Her grip on his larynx was no less painful than her punches. Wesley made a choking sound and she loosened her hold, but only by a little.

Wesley stared defiantly into the young woman's dark eyes. "I said, "I know where she is."" He coughed and then brought his hands up to grab Faith's wrists as she half-strangled him. "Now," he tightened his grip just a little. "Get off me, bitch," His face was a mangled mess, with a split lip and one eye already closing over, but he still managed to glare up at his attacker in defiance.

Their standoff lasted several minutes, but to them it felt like years before the other moved. Their only witness, the plump, fat pig that sat watching silently through the entire event was the only one besides participants themselves who knew who moved first.

Before Wesley was even on his feet Faith was upon him, slamming him into the wall by his shoulders. "Where the fuck is she, Wes?" the Slayer growled out quietly. Her breath was hot and it tickled his ear. "Tell me now or I swear to God-"

"You'll do what?" he asked disparagingly, shoving at the Slayer. She moved back half an inch. His voice was hoarse and cracked and his throat had already started sporting deep blue bruises. "Kill me? Look around you, Faith. There isn't much more damage you can do," he spat out. The Slayer was stunned, faltered, and Wesley caught the sudden slip as it flickered in her eyes. He pushed at the girl again, harder, and this time she let him go. It was then they both realised that Faith had been the only reason the ex-Watcher was still upright as he immediately fell to his knees.

"What are you talkin' about?" Faith demanded, though her voice had lost a little of its ferocious edge. Something was wrong with Wesley. He wasn't acting like a poncy Brit with a stick up his ass should act. He looked different too. He had exchanged his slacks and tweed combo for the all American jeans and a sweatshirt. He wasn't wearing his glasses anymore, though she wasn't sure if she had knocked the spectacles off his face or if he wasn't even wearing them when he had come in. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a week or so. He looked almost more like a homeless person than Faith herself felt right now.

Wesley was quiet for a moment. "You really don't know, do you?" he asked quietly, his voice breaking because of his damaged throat. A grin crossed his face. "Don't you _know?"_ On the floor before the girl he began to laugh. The sound of his voice carried down the street and chilled her to the bone. Her fingers grabbed his hair and she tugged him to the side, the way it hurt, the way her mother had taught her. That shut him up pretty quick.

"What the fuck are you babblin' like a crazy man about?"

The man shook his head and whatever thought he had found so funny was shoved back deep into his mind for him to mull over later. He avoided her question. "It doesn't matter." Faith opened her mouth, her eyes narrowed dangerously, looking ready to make a threat, or perhaps make good on one she had already made. Wesley forged ahead quickly before she could say a word. "What does matter though, is the position you find yourself in."

The Slayer snorted. "Yeah, Wussley? And what position is that?" the girl drawled, her husky voice sultry. She pushed him gently and he swayed a little. "All over you?"

He grinned. "Only if you ask really nicely, little girl. Maybe then I'll even let you call me "Daddy."" Her fist crunched his nose flush against his face and he fell back squirming and cursing.

"You wanna lose it, baby?" The Slayer asked, pulling the kitchen knife out of the elastic band of the pants. "I'm not Jewish or nothin', but I'll give it a go." Wesley instinctively pulled his knees up into his body and made the appropriate scared-puppy whimper. "Better." She had her foot on his neck. "Now what were we saying about positions?" He moved to push her off him again but the brunette forced his face further into the carpet. "The position of Buffy is…" she prompted through gritted teeth.

"Is…" Wesley gasped out. "Is…" Faith leaned in closer. "Is something you'll never know." The livid girl practically snarled at Wesley and he quickly modified his statement. "Something you'll never know, unless we co-operate."

The weight on his neck was gone and the Slayer took a step back, giving her room to laugh. "You wanna co-operate? What, Wesley? Be my Watcher again?" her sentences were half formed as she spat them out quickly. "Still trying to save me?" she assumed masochistically. His answer hurt, but she wasn't going to let him see that.

"You aren't worth that much trouble," he bit out, hauling his battered body into a sitting position. Wesley's crisp blue eye, the one that wasn't surrounded by black and swollen flesh, glittered wildly. "Nothing so drastic. Just one teensy weensy thing and then I'll drop you off on Buffy's doorstep." His smile was cold. "I want you to kill someone for me."

Faith grinned, her teeth shining like a Cheshire cat in the soft moonlight. "I can do that."

* * *

He had made up an excuse and left. It's the little things that you do that show you're lying. Like when he brought his hands together as he spoke, then dropped them to his sides, only to remove them from sight completely by shoving them deep into his pockets. Or the way his eye kept avoiding her face. Not obviously, mind you. If it had been anyone else, they would have dismissed his jitters with that of someone standing in the presence of the woman who had just forced him to enjoy the delicacies of carpet fibre. But he had stood up to her, and she had been baffled when she had seen no fear in his eyes. And his body language was giving him away, motions were too precise, and certain shifts in his stature were just too irregular. She had seen it all.

He was so full of shit.

Faith lay curled up on the mattress, hiding from the sunrise in her little cave. The base of Buffy's bed had been shoved against the slanted ceiling to cover the window, at Wesley's suggestion. To keep anyone from noticing that there was life inside the house. Because life in Sunnydale, as of late, was hard to come by. According to the poncy little British man the town was infested with demons, along with most of Southern California. This "Outbreak," as the gorvern-y type people had called it, was being combated by the US Army as well as the Council and small pockets of resistance fighters up and down the coastline. Faith didn't know whether to believe him or not, the Council co-operating with anybody seemed far-fetched as it was. But the deserted town of Sunnydale was evidence before her eyes.

Apparently the Mayor's Ascension had disrupted the demon underworld, causing what could have been easily described as a riot. Emotive speeches were made and demons had gathered, gunning down anything remotely human. Even the peaceful versions of themselves. The marauding hordes had no time for supernatural "hippies." By the time the proper officials had fully grasped the situation events had begun to spiral swiftly out of control and nearly all human life had been obliterated for a two hundred mile radius around Sunnydale, give or take. Faith couldn't bring herself to ask what had happened to the Mayor and Wesley wasn't volunteering the information.

She had asked him sarcastically how the resistance was fairing. His face was grim as he answered. "Fading. But slowly." His tone left her unable to tell whether he was worried about that fact or not. So much had changed about the Watcher in the eight months that Buffy had taken her out for.

Eight months. Wesley had said it like she should have known. He had asked her where she had been. Her answer, whatever it had been, was vague and noncommittal. "Lost," was the best he had drawn from her. The Watcher had pressed the issue but the only rise he received from the slim girl was a threat of physical violence after that. So he had told her he was off to fetch supplies, and would be back sometime after dusk. It would be easier if they moved after the daylight hours had passed. Under the cover of darkness, was the idea he had exuded. Faith had the feeling Wesley had seen a lot of darkness while she had been away.

The deceptively fragile looking girl pulled into herself more, subconsciously holding the stuffed pig she had rescued closer to her chest. Rescued, hah. Now that was a joke. Faith hadn't legitimately "rescued" anybody, not in so long a time. And never like the Wonder Bitch, Buffy. So selflessly and without prompt. And why was that? It wasn't like she owed anyone else jack. She hadn't been trained as well, being shuffled back and forth from Watcher to Watcher. She didn't have the resources, the allies the blond princess did. The money. Shit, that must have been one hell of a plus. Faith didn't really notice how much she was missing out on there until Wilkins had introduced her to the wonderful world of credit cards.

The Mayor. Just thinking about him caused a stinging at the edges of Faith's eyes. She bit down on her lip and drew in a long, shuddering breath while lying alone in the darkened room. But she wasn't going to cry. Faith had wasted enough time crying over the dead and gone. So the Mayor had vanished on her. Albeit, not by choice, but he had gone all the same, just like everybody else. There was nothing left now. Nothing but pain and hurt and burning, and a need for payback.

The Slayer wanted to kill Buffy.

Faith wanted vengeance, wanted retribution for her disgrace.

The brunette girl that lay quietly in a neglected home wasn't sure if she could actually pull it off, and she was terrified.

Two to one odds.

The birds began to sing outside. It surprised her that there were still birds in the town. That they had wanted to stay, even with the stench of evil floating in the air. But less so in her mind. As the world outside brightened in it's natural cycle the headache that had been pounding at Faith's mind all night, the feel of evil, receded to a mild, yet bearable hum. One birdsong grew louder and Faith thought that it might have perched on the tree that grew outside Buffy's window. It was a sparrow, and it sang noisily, welcoming the day. The Slayer groaned and wondered if it were an evil bird.

"Everything's wrong," the girl whispered, and rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. Orange light from the dawn snuck into the room around the edges of the bed base and created rippling shadows on the white slanted plane.

Wesley, now there was a shocker. Although, if she brought herself to really think about it, maybe not. The man looked far too clean to get himself dirty with something like this, it was easier for him to just convince someone else to flop in the mud for him. Or maybe it was the way he was raised. Or both. From the way he was dressed –_damn was he looking fine,_ the girl had thought briefly but then quickly dismissed the hormonal urges as after effects of the coma because her body was sex starved- and from the way he carried himself Princess Margaret looked about ready to blow anyway. Should just do it himself, if he had the balls. But Faith wasn't going to bring up those comments, since he was going to lead her to Buffy. Maybe she'd kill Wesley after that. What were another few pints of blood on her hands after all she had done?

She stifled a sob by pulling the plush farm animal to her face, hiding behind the stuffed pig as if he were a shield. No. No, she was not going to cry over this, dammit. None of it was worth crying over. Her gasps for air were ragged and torn, and the area were Buffy had stabbed her, where the fine silver scar ran across her flawless skin, contracted painfully as she forced her breathing into a regular pattern. She sniffed, and then coughed to clear her throat. "I'm not going to cry over her," she told the pig tonelessly, her usual passion lost for the moment. "I'm sick of doing that." She held the pig, _her_ stuffed pig now, she decided, as possession was nine-tenths of the law, high above her head and regarded him seriously, as if he would have a solution to all of her problems. "What do you think I should do, Mister Gordo?"

The pig just stared back at her blankly with a helpless expression on his furry face.

* * *

The sun had risen only a few moments before, but Lieutenant Finn was already downstairs in the kitchen sipping at his second coffee of the morning. He had barely slept an hour last night. A rotten feeling sat in the pit of his stomach, one that had been growing more putrid as time went by. Something was wrong, somewhere. Finn just couldn't put his finger on it.

Bennet meandered into the kitchen, yawning and scratching himself. His hair had been mussed from his sleep and he hadn't showered or shaved yet. Never a morning person, but a light sleeper and stirred from slumber by the sound of the kettle, Bennet lazily saluted the sandy haired man. "Morning," he grunted, and flopped on a stool. His head rested against the cool marble table and to all pretences the Private appeared to have gone back to sleep.

"Coffee? Black?" Finn asked, intentionally putting a shine on his normal morning cheer to irritate the young Private. Best to not let him get too comfortable. Bennet let out a small groaned of affirmation and Finn moved to get the milk out of the fridge. "So, what'd you get up to, last night?" the Lieutenant asked teasingly. "For someone so sick of "this man's army" you sure look worn out."

"The little boy was probably up all night playing video games," Ellis, a member of the Specialist Mafia, joked as he sauntered into the room. The curly haired brunette man slapped his fellow soldier on the back, eliciting a small groan from Bennet. "Typical Joe. You know how children are," he said to Finn, his voice deep and powerful. Finn had heard that Ellis had been quite the ladies man back in New York City, but, like Bennet, Finn just found his dirty talk sleazy.

"Was not," Bennet mumbled indignantly, still hiding under his arm. He perked up a little when Finn placed a steaming mug in front of him. "And I wasn't partaking in the revelry of comrades in arms."

"So what were you doing, then?" 2nd Lieutenant Valentine asked as he joined the others in the kitchen. That man got a lot of grief about his name. It seemed that Finn's whole platoon was up and about now. "Playing with your gun?" Finn's XO asked the young soldier tactlessly. The man was quick witted and an excellent tactician, but he hardly had a way with words.

Bennet went scarlet. "Was not," he muttered vehemently.

"This is my rifle, this is my gun-"

"This is for fighting, and that one's for fun!" Ridge chimed in as he bounced past Valentine and made for the cold box. "Busted," he commented as he retrieved the orange juice. He had heard the whole conversation from upstairs. Without people moving about the town during the daytime even the smallest sound of human life seemed magnified to the nth degree.

There was a sudden frantic pounding at the B&B's front entrance and all pretence of a comfortable morning breakfast was lost. Finn turned to Valentine. "Who's on watch?" he asked quietly.

"Stevens and Martinez-"

The latter private he spoke of stuck his head around the corner and waved to get Lieutenant Finn's attention. Finn nodded in acknowledgement and the man made a quick series of hand gestures before returning silently to wherever it was he had come from. _Two men in US uniform, three civilians,_ Finn thought as he made his way to the door, backed by the other four early birds. He pulled his M-1911 out and aimed it at the centre of the door. Beside him Ellis did the same. Finn nodded to Valentine and the soldier pulled the door open quickly with a quick arm jerk.

"Whoa, whoa, boys. Friends here," yelped a pale youth who looked fresh out of boot camp. He was dressed in a uniform similar to Finn's, but with the insignia of Ryan's squad emblazoned on his shoulder. The Lieutenant snapped down his safety and signalled for Ellis to do the same. He seemed reluctant to do so. Guess they were going to have to have another little chat about why "trigger-happy" was not a fun thing to be.

Skulking behind the private a dark haired man dressed in black fatigues snorted. "Typical of the Army. Quick to the trigger." The young man's hand rested on lightly on the standard AK-47 that was slung from his shoulder.

Beside him, standing between the two similarly dressed civilian men was an attractive young woman. Her deep red hair was illuminated subtly in the morning sun. She touched the dark-clothed man's arm. "Percy, please." The comment was quiet and short, but the woman seemed to have some standing because Percy did as he was told. She must be the one who was in charge.

One of the soldier's stepped forward. He handed Riley a large envelope. It felt thin and light in his fingers. The Lieutenant gave the private a questioning look. "Orders from the Colonel," the man said. Finn tore open the envelope, as eager as any of his men for an assignment. The note was brief, concise and a little alarming. Finn met the green eyes of the redheaded woman.

"Mrs Osborne?" She nodded. "Ma'am, it says here that my platoon and I are supposed to escort you and your party into Orange County to retrieve the Slayer." A few chuckles could be heard from inside the house behind him, but the woman ignored the amused soldiers.

"That's right."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

Her lips twitched into a thin smile. "That's why I'm here asking you and your men to do this, Lieutenant Finn, instead of the soldiers down in Brawley and El Cajon. Because I heard you were the best."

"You're Council."

"We work with the Council, yes."

Lieutenant Finn saluted the two waiting men and they quickly left. "Well, Mrs Osborne, I think we should talk inside, don't you?" The redheaded woman grinned like she had won something and made her way into the hooch without further prompt. "Mr West? Mr Osborne?" he asked, reading their names off the file he held.

Mr West pushed his way past the Lieutenant, muttering something about soldiers with sticks up their something or rather and followed their leader inside. Mr Osborne, the redhead's husband, the soldier assumed, paused in front of Finn and, surprisingly, extended a hand. The Lieutenant accepted the gesture of the shorter man and received a firm handshake in return. "Name's Oz," he said quietly.

**

* * *

Continued in the next chapter: "Blunder is a Technical Term."**


	4. Blunder Is A Technical Term

**Previously:** _With the support of the mysterious "Council" the US Military have managed to temporarily contain the Outbreak: a wave of killing and destruction that has spread throughout California from the infection point of Sunnydale. But when your allies seem to have as many secret agendas as your opponents, and just as few morals, is the enemy of the Army's enemy truly their friend? Lieutenant Finn has his doubts._

_Meanwhile, in the former home of the woman who's very presence practically destroyed both their lives, an ex-Watcher made the Rogue Slayer a proposition she didn't refuse…

* * *

_

**Chapter Four: "Blunder is a Technical Term."**

* * *

"_Oh yes! Like how the cow and the chicken come together even though they've never met. It's like Sleepless in Seattle if, if Meg and Tom were, like, minced." –_ Buffy Anne Summers

* * *

"**BFE, here we come," **Ellis muttered as he lit another cigarette, his third of the journey so far. He lost grip of his match and the LUV bounced a little as he swerved the wheel. Lieutenant Finn groaned the soldier's incompetence, but saved any remarks he wanted to make for later. He had the feeling that the young woman seated beside him was just looking for another reason to think the Army useless. It was the way the Council was.

"BFE, Sergeant?" Mrs Osborne asked curiously. "Army code, I take it?" She pulled her sunglasses off her face and watched Ellis as she waited for him to respond. Finn wished the man would have the common sense to keep his mouth shut for once, but it seemed he had no such luck.

"Yes, ma'am," Ellis replied respectfully and Finn hoped he would just leave it at that. Instead the man who was notorious for avoiding any explanations that was longer than a headshake forged on, spelling out the contraction for the woman. "Bumfuck, Egypt. Middle of nowhere type thing." It wasn't a prescribed Army acronym, of course, but the recruits always found new ways of stirring things up between themselves and the more traditionally focused lifers.

"Ah," the redhead said, before returning to the pile of files that sat on her lap. Even though Finn had relinquished his seat in the front for her, so she would be where the wind sheer was less, the occasional strong breeze gripped the papers that she held, threatening to scatter them across the desert. "So, Lieutenant. What is your plan?" The woman asked, redirecting her attention away from Ellis.

Amusement sparkled in the woman's green eyes, and Finn was unsure whether she was laughing at Ellis' dirty comment or how stupid the Sergeant made the Army look during wartime. He leaned forward to make sure she'd hear him. "We've got four 5-tonners tailing us, forty-plus men and armaments. We aren't going for subtly here. We just want to get _our_ people back," Finn said, emphasizing the word "our" with a little growl. After all, it was the Council who had borrowed the soldiers that accompanied the Slayer into the OC in the first place.

Mrs. Osborne seemed to be mulling something over in her mind. She made a little humming noise, and then nodded. "Yes. That could be a problem." Her eyes caught Finn's and the Lieutenant frowned a little. He was certain they had been a brighter shade of green before. "Well, what do you suggest?"

"We don't have many options ma'am. We're outnumbered and intelligence suggests out-gunned as well." The redhead nodded, that information coming as no surprise. "They aren't expecting reinforcements?"

"No."

Finn waited, but the woman decided not to further speculate. He let out a little sigh of frustration. "Our best bet is to surprise the enemy, grab our people and make a run down the coastline to San Fran where the 6th and 8th Divisions can provide us back-up if necessary."

"For that kind of strategy to work, Lieutenant Finn, the Slayer and the soldiers would need to be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time."

"Right," Finn said, a little annoyed at the woman's insight. "Two hundred clicks south of Laguna Beach on the highway, oh-five-hundred hours tomorrow."

The woman tilted her head to the side and thought about what he was saying for a moment. Her long calculations perplexed Finn. "How do you suggest we inform the Slayer of that location, Riley?" she asked, her tone a little more secretive, a little less commandeering. Like she didn't know whether or not she should be saying that. Finn was startled for a moment. He wasn't aware that the Council had files descriptive enough to reveal his first name.

Finn, in a moment of brief empathy for the woman and what position she was in, gave the redhead the easy way out. No explanations needed. "Why, Mrs Osborne. You'll be the one who has to do that."

She frowned, the delicate crimson brows furrowing. "Indeed," she muttered, as she resumed her long estimates while staring aimlessly out into the desert, ignoring Finn completely.

* * *

The LUV went over a crack in the asphalt and Percy bounced off his seat, cursing as he landed practically on top of the orange haired soldier next to him. "Fuckin' Army," Percy murmured to the short man beside him.

Oz gave his friend a sardonic grin. "Chill," he muttered, running a hand over the number-two length hair that covered his scalp. The last thing he wanted was Percy acting up and starting something with all these soldiers. What had happened was a tragedy, but it was hardly the Army's fault, and if his friend kept picking fights it could hinder Willow's efforts.

A dark haired soldier with twinkling brown eyes began to laugh, slapping his knee and pointing at the young man Percy had practically sat on. "Looks like Finn had it right about you, Bennet."

Bennet scowled, his face blushing a shade darker than his hair. "Fuck you, Ridgie."

_Oz._

Willow's voice entered his mind suddenly, and he fought with his natural instinct to not react to the sudden intrusion made by his wife. Oz turned his gaze out the window, ignoring the small argument raging in the back of the 4x4 and focused his mind on the other one that occupied his head. _Yeah?_

_The Lieutenant doesn't like our odds,_ she whispered inside his thoughts, silently requesting his advice. Or his help. It seemed lately that Willow could bring herself to ask for neither. _He seems to think we're going into this blind._

_Then ask him what_ he _sees,_ the man told her simply, and Willows presence was gone for a few moments as she, he supposed, took his advice. The desert passed by in a blur of yellow ochre and burnt sienna. Oz sighed. Everything was beginning to seem so dark lately.

Willows words interrupted his thoughts again._ He has a location he wants Buffy to meet us at, _she communicated in a breathy way, like she was distracted at the other end. _He's hinting that I should tell her. That I can tell her._

_Hint back._

Again she was gone, and Oz looked up just in time to dodge an elbow flying at his face. "Percy!" the shorter man yelled, getting out of his seat and pulling the other man back. "Sit down," he growled out, letting the wolf have a little say in the matter as well. Percy's eyes grew a little whiter and he did what he was told. Oz turned to the soldier, Bennet. "You too." The boy nodded and sat a little further away.

_Oz, _Willow came back, again without announcement. _The Lieutenant just as good as flat out told me to tell Buffy._

Oz growled, and a few of the men near him moved closer to the walls of the vehicle. _Better do it then. We have no choice._

He could feel Willow sigh, and it saddened him that he wasn't able to comfort her. _I know. I'll try and contact her when we get to Ridgecrest for the evening. But it felt like something was blocking me the first time… _

_Sorcery? _There was no response beyond the feeling of wounded pride, so Oz thought that he had hit the nail on the head. _Do your best,_ he began, as every reassuring husband should. _You said it would be easier for you to find her once we were closer. I know you can do it._

A few moments passed, and he felt her tenacity hardening. He could just imagine her "resolve face" taking form as she thought. _All right. I'll do it when we stop._ Then she was gone again, as if she had never been.

Oz blinked, coming back to reality. The soldiers were staring at him, wondering why he was still on his feet. He nodded to the young guy, feeling a little bad for snapping at him and then sat back down next to Percy. His head was tingling a little after Willow had left his mind. The wolf hadn't like it much either, and now he felt edgy, and wanted out of this moving tin can.

Taking a deep breath the man tried to calm himself. It was getting him worked up lately, the amount of magic Willow was using, and the things that she was using it for. She was becoming very powerful very quickly out of necessity, making herself valuable to the effort, but at what cost? She wasn't the woman he had married anymore, that was for sure.

It was the magic. It was consuming her, and killing him.

* * *

The large sword arched down toward the blond girl's head as she dodged left. Her hands snapped out, lightening quick, and clapped together on the flat of the sword. The vampire wielding the blade hissed as she snapped his weapon in half before launching a front kick to the undead creature's face. His head cracked back and she took a moment to re-centre herself before delivering a destructive sidekick into the vampire's side. The creature made a noise like a deflated whoopee cushion and dropped.

"That looked kinda funny," she commented automatically, but even then it still felt forced. "Think you can do it again?"

"_YEARGH!"_ The scream that one soldier emitted as his left arm was torn from his body was awful. Buffy winced and hurled the broken blade at the scaly demon. It wedged itself into the demon's arm, knocking the scaly creature off balance and stunning it long enough for the little blond to break the creature's neck with a solid uppercut.

"Shit!" Buffy yelled, pulling her injured hand close to her chest. The demon's hide had been thicker than she had anticipated, and the tiny bones in her hand paid the price for her overzealous action. Some sixth sense urged her to turn around and she managed to dodge the spear throw aimed at her chest just in time. The weapon stuck into the body of the vampire she had beaten down earlier, dusting it conveniently. She picked up the long missile and moved to return it to its former handler.

The whole thing had been an ambush. Whether or not that was Willow's fault the Slayer didn't know. It wasn't her problem to know things like "can demons intercept mystical telepathy?" If they couldn't then there was a leak somewhere in the system, or worse, a double agent. Buffy really didn't have time to think about that as she charged at a large, white, hairy yeti-demon with the spear tucked under her arm like a javelin.

Blood, thick and yellowish, oozed out of the deep gash the spearhead had torn into the yeti's abdomen. The beast roared and grabbed at the shaft of the weapon with both hands and swinging the wooden rod high into the air. Buffy held tight to the peak of the arc and the dropped down onto snow-coloured shoulders, wrapping her legs around the yeti's neck. Her upper body continued it's descent towards the ground and she squeezed the muscles in her thighs taut, smiling grimly when she heard the satisfying snap of the yeti-demon's spine snapping.

Her shoulders hit the asphalt and she rolled to her feet, moving on to the next foe before the yeti's corpse had even hit the ground. Another of the Army's finest, a blond farm-boy who had made an unwanted pass at Buffy, let out a yell and fell to the ground with three vampires descending on top of him. Their rendezvous point had quickly turned into a slaughterhouse.

Across the blood-splattered highway, struggling with some kind of feathered demon, Lieutenant Bruce caught the Slayer's eye and let her know in a look that he blamed her for the situation they were in. It had been tough convincing the older soldier to move the men out into the open of the highway on her guarantee that there would be reinforcements meeting them at five am that morning. Every minute their back up was late caused another life to be lost, another soul Bruce was laying on the Slayer's blond head. It was her fault they were in so deep in the first place.

* * *

Ten minutes up the highway the cavalry was not without its own problems.

"AMBUSH!" Lieutenant Finn called out the obvious as Ellis swerved the wheel, plunging the LUV into the barrier at sixty miles an hour. Before him a massive scaled demon that reminded him more of a dinosaur reared on its hind legs and let out a monstrous bellow. When its large cloven feet slammed back down onto the road the tar seal cracked and shattered into thousands of pieces. Atop the raging beast rode a muscular example of a Type 63. The creature's horny face curled up into what Finn thought was a grin, and that was when the sandy-haired soldier noticed the two other dinosaur-beasts lurking behind the first, as well as some kind of Type 63 contingent.

The redhead in the front seat groaned and squinted through the black smoke that was leaking out of the crushed front remains of the vehicle. Several bright read streaks of blood ran down her face from her hair. "Chaos demons," she muttered, catching sight of the enemy. "Of course no vampires, this close to dawn."

"And the big'uns?" asked Ellis, shaking his helmet straight and quickly removing his seatbelt before moving to unbuckled Mrs Osborne. His hands worked quickly to unclip the mechanism. The air reeked of diesel, and the small sparks the mangled engine was emitting was not at all encouraging.

"Those," the woman said, pressing her fingers to her temples and making a face of pain. The dinosaur-thing bellowed loudly again and she winced. "Those are new."

"Ma'am?" Finn asked, already knowing the answer.

"Concussion," she stated, shaking her head a little. The redhead was tough; he had to give her that, even if she was _Council_. She wiped at the blood that was steadily dribbling down the side of her face, as head wounds tended to do, only succeeding in smearing the crimson liquid across her pale cheekbones. "Some people can't drive."

Finn ignored the last part and pulled the woman free of the belt. "We need to get out of here before this thing blows." Throwing her over his broad shoulders in the standard fireman's carry, despite her vocal and mildly physical protests, Finn raced to the opposite side of the highway, across the enemy line of fire, using the thick ebon smoke that billowed from their destroyed LUV as camouflage. The two soldiers and the civilian crouched behind the highway's side barrier, clutching at their weapons tightly.

A small group of lightly armed 63s, scouts in Finn's mind, broke off from the larger group and made for the three humans at a breakneck pace. Their weapons, more tribal than technological, rattled with the strain of their speed. Finn could see them salivating as they approached, fangs gnashing in anticipation. With territories tight and restricted as they were the demons had to share meals with the vampires. The 63s saw the soldiers as free food, and subsequently marched on their stomachs.

Ellis raised his rifle and took careful aim, like his daddy had taught him. His first bullet found a home in between one of the demon's eyes and his second knocked another monster off its feet when the hot lead buried itself under the scaly collarbone. Beside him Finn's three shots all struck gold, eliminating half of the lightly armed group. The demons hesitated in their charge when their numbers dwindled suddenly.

"No mercy," Ellis muttered, barely loud enough for his own ears to acknowledge. He repeatedly squeezed the trigger of his weapon, annihilating the remainder of the 63 scouts. His sardonic smile did little to reassure his commanding officer.

The 5-tonners had been at cruising speed nearly a whole mile behind the scout LUV and had luckily stopped short of the crash site. Finn could see Valentine organizing the RL. "Shit," Finn cursed, the word sounding strange coming from his mouth.

"Sir?"

"Lieutenant?"

"I'm not sure-" Finn began, before being cut off but a shout of surprise from Mrs Osborne.

"We need to move further away. Now!" The tone in her voice brooked no argument and both men dragged her to her feet and proceeded at a half-jog toward their reinforcements just as a reddish streak blazed though the air only a few feet above their heads.

* * *

Percy was one of the first out of the back of the rig, his weapons at the ready. Oz followed closely behind. "Oz-man?" Percy asked, his voice grim as he caught sight of the inferno that was the remains of the leading vehicle. He pulled a pair of binoculars out of the LUV's surplus and scanned the crash site. Both men were silent for a moment, until Percy caught sight of shadowed movement racing through the smoke. "They're over there!" he yelled, elbowing the shorter man. Oz nodded sombrely. "Now what?"

"Now, you boys step back and let us do our thing," one soldier answered. The butter-bar that sparkled on his collar gave the learned boys a clue as to his status, which was in charge of everyone else with them. "Ridge, Bennet," the dark haired 2nd Lieutenant commanded. "Break out the LAW."

The soldiers in question nodded and then disappeared for a moment, returning with a short wooden case. Oz grunted. "Seen one of those before." The black cylindrical weapon was extended to its full length and then placed on Ridge's shoulder. The smaller, more compact rocket launcher looked like a toy compared to the one Buffy had once wielded against the Judge. The ginger haired Bennet loaded the M72A4 for Ridge, before flicking switches up the side of the weapon. He gave their commander a thumbs-up.

"Target the remains of the LUV. Help the fuel tank to a quick end, boys."

"They're too close!" Percy whispered urgently into the shorter man's ear. From the side of the highway were Willow and the soldiers were situated the redhead couldn't see the danger.

Oz let out a little growl, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Run, damn you."

The air seemed to be sucked from all around the weapon when Ridge pressed the release button, triggering the magneto, and heat and light and energy pushed the group away before the resulting boom deafened those near it for a few moments.

* * *

Her second skin no longer fit. That little truth, though not unexpected, irked her more than any other factor. The armour that had protected her for years, years and years before anything had ever been this heavy, had betrayed her by not recognising her body when she slipped inside it once again. Faith pouted and tugged at the zip of her leather pants. So she had slimmed down a little. Didn't mean her rugged-wear had to hang funny.

The white wife-beater proved little protection against the Californian night air as she waited at the bus station for the wonder-wimp. Watcher boy had been unusually twitchy. Granted she had tried to kill him and all of his idealistic little hero-wannabe tea party chums a couple of times about eight months or so ago but, gee you would think he'd get over it.

Whiny Brit.

He had returned, as promised, some time after sunset with some meager supply of food and a bag of Faith's own clothes. As if the fact that Wesley had handily stored away some of the Slayer's own threads for such an unlikely situation wasn't enough to get her suspicion ticking over, the damn man wouldn't eat. It was a minor detail, and it wasn't like she particularly cared to share –hungry Slayer after all- but his actions were making her suspect he had poisoned the crackers or something. And it wasn't like he didn't look like he needed the food himself. The man looked drawn, and had lost a lot of weight on his already scrawny frame.

The vehicle Wesley had bundled her into looked like it had seen better days. Or months. Or years. Actually, the damn clunking thing reminded her a hell of a lot of G-man's old Citroen. When they had pulled up outside of the Santa Maria bus station Faith had thought that they had broken down, until Wesley had informed her that she would be spending the day laying low inside the former transport hub while he attended to some "resistance affairs," and that he would return some time during the evening. Even this far out of the small town of Sunnydale Faith's Slayer-sense was still ringing bells and whistles, so the girl knew the problems were deadly serious.

"_Unless, of course, you'd want to help?"_ The offer had been made in a strained and defeated tone, and both parties knew the answer before the Slayer had even began to chuckle. Shortly after helping with a painstaking perimeter check the man had disappeared, leaving Faith with little to do but sleep the day away and contemplate her situation in life. Neither of which was an activity she much enjoyed.

She stood there for several minutes shivering in the cold night air and wishing she had the common sense to wear something warmer than a white cotton singlet. When the Slayer had hurriedly dressed the previous evening she didn't exactly prepared herself for a night outside a bus station in the middle of nowhere. Faith didn't really know what to prepare for at all, she had just acted without thought, as usual. But that was while she was still in the relative warmth and safety of the abandoned Summers' home.

Now, as she hunched over and hugged herself in an effort to keep warm, she silently cursed every person she could think of that had influenced her in any way into this situation. Her vocabulary of cuss words reached its end and Faith began to kick at the dirt aimlessly, muttering stuff about nothing.

The Slayer's mind wandered as her body shivered again and goose bumps materialized on her forearms making the small hairs there stand on end. Subconsciously she rubbed her arms and considered what her move should be. The heavy shuffle of boots echoed around the parking lot and her body unwillingly went rigid as the noise halted directly behind her. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath as she mentally chastised herself for not being more careful. One lapse in focus was all it took to get killed. Her breath caught in her throat when a familiar tingle ran up and down her spine.

"You look lost," a deep voice drawled from behind her.

She spun around to find herself looking at a maroon-clad chest. The girl's eyes darted to the visage of what would have once been a fairly handsome man. Now a demon stood before her in full vamp-face, with not a care for who saw, and was currently occupied with leering at the neckline of her singlet.

He didn't have that sour smell older corpses had, and his clothes were at least current, so Faith figured he was a fresh fang and might actually be stupid enough to think she was a random human victim waiting around at a dingy bus station to be somebody's breakfast. _I can work with that._ She flashed him a flirty smile. "I don't know. It looks like you've found me."

His eyes shot up to look at her face and her gawked at her in shock for a few fleeting seconds. Realization spread across his face and he grinned at her response. Not many meals liked to play lately. "Guess I have." The next comment was just as intelligent as the previous. "Do you want a ride somewhere?"

Faith felt as if she were reading the script off some B class porn movie. She resisted rolling her eyes and instead favored him with another seductive smile that would have made a pumping heart skip a beat. "That depends," she said in a low throaty voice. "Where do you wanna take me?" Her hand gestured behind him to the empty parking lot.

"Wherever you wanna go, babe." He smiled suggestively at her and this time she did roll her eyes. _Idiot…_

Moving toward him quickly the girl rabbit-punched the vampire in the face. His nose shattered instantly. Before he could react to her initial attack she launched a solid kick into his chest and grinned wickedly when she heard his ribs crunch like dead leaves. Wounded now, with his sternum imploded, he collapsed face down onto the asphalt. The vamp moaned pitifully as he clutched at his fractured ribcage.

A look of disgust formed on the Slayer's features as she checked him out from top to bottom. He wheezed in a pained manner and crimson blood flowed steadily from his nose. The damage wasn't severe but the vamp still writhed like a kicked puppy. She sneered at the squirming vampire, disgusted by his weakness.

"Aren't you going to finish him off?" Faith flinched and hoped her reaction went unnoticed. Eight months of comatose slumber hadn't dulled the effect that particular nasal British voice had on her.

The Slayer smirked at the man, and lashed out with hours of the day's boredom and frustration lacing her words. "Let me borrow that massive flagstaff rammed up your ass, Princess. Sure that'll get the job done." She raised one of her dark brown brows in question. "Unless, of course, you wanna leave it where your daddy put it?" The Slayer was knowingly digging herself deeper into her hole. But it was cool and quiet and dark down there and Faith didn't really want to leave.

The crack of a man's fist hitting the face of a woman echoed across the car park.

The louder snap that accompanied the breaking of both the ulna and radius bones soon followed.

* * *

Parker Abrams was lucky to be alive. Well, lucky to be undead, but as he raced toward Sunnydale Town Hall he didn't feel the need to debate semantics with himself. He had bumped into the Slayer. The Slayer, not that wannabe blond thing causing the forces of darkness so much aggravation, but the real Slayer, the one nearly every member of the underworld was searching for. He had bumped into her, faced her, stood up to her, and lived.

Parker wondered what kind of reward he would get.

A pale hand shot out from behind a nearby tree and wrapped around the racing vampire's neck. Stopped short Parker's feet refused to support him at the angle he was being held and he sagged, only to find himself held up by the strength of the pale hand. The fingers squeezed, and though the vampire didn't need to breathe the sheer pressure against his trachea made black spots dance before his eyes.

"Well, well. Little Porker. Running from the big bad wolf are we? Where's the fire?"

"Oooh, shall we set him aflame, my naughty boy? The stars are calling for me to dance in his ashes."

The vampire swallowed at the sound of those familiar voices, and Parker found himself wishing that he had remained in Santa Maria with the Slayer. "Spike," he nodded to the bleach blond vampire, keeping his voice as steady as possible. The older vampire grinned and squeezed a little tighter before releasing him. "Drusilla," the young vampire wheezed, with a half bow. He, like many of the new breed, was all too aware of the destructive nature of the slender vampire's' insanity.

"How polite," Spike ground out. "Now answer the question, boy." The palm of his hand smacked Parker in the back of his head.

Options flashed through Parker's mind, and greed won out over self-preservation. "N-no fire, Spike. Just… eager to start the working night."

The smell of woman's perfume and the soft shimmer of silk next to Parker terrified him. "Horrid little child. They can smell your lies." Her nails clawed into his cheek. Three angry red tracks had been engraved down the side of his face, deep troughs that looked like they should bleed but did not. Parker didn't bleed much anymore, not since his blood had stopped flowing permanently. Instinctively his hand flew up to the injury and he backpedaled away from Drusilla.

Coming to stand beside his sire, Spike pulled out a cigarette and sparked it up, taking his time with the motion and obviously evaluating the mess that Parker was. His arm slithered around Dru's waist and pulled her in close. "An' if "they" didn't tattle on you, even a blind man can see someone's run you through the ringer."

"I swear, I don't know what you're talki- ah!" Spike finished grinding the cigarette into Parker's right eye and released the struggling vampire's shoulder. Parker fell backward onto the sidewalk. A viscous white substance mingled with blood dribbled down the side of his face. The boy howled and squirmed away from the merciless vampire. His eye was gone, popped like a grape within its own socket, and left the flesh around the hole that remained feeling like it was on fire.

"Yeah? I think you're being a bloody lying Yank. You're keeping secrets, and that's not what friends do." Thin gray smoke was exhaled little by little as the vampire spoke. He relit the crushed and bloodied fag and puffed again, this time keeping it in his mouth by his teeth. "Aren't we friends, Porky?"

"Spike…" Parker tried hopelessly, panting and holding the remains of his eye against the wound with the palm of his hand. There was little blood around the wound but the pain alone was enough to make the boy feel nauseas.

"Do you know what happens to a little boy that lies like a dog?" Spike's smile was none too friendly. "He gets thrashed like one."

Behind him, halfway between Sunnydale and her own little world, Drusilla spun, raising her arms in the air to dance beneath the light of the moon. "Beat him! Beat the wicked little boy, my William." She twirled closer to Parker before ceasing her spinning and crouched before the dead man. Her tone was dead serious. "But Miss Edith needs new eyes, and red is her favorite color." She hissed and flicked her fingers at Parker's face. That was the final straw that broke the camel's back. Parker broke down, spilling the beans in a half sobbing voice.

Spike grinned and flicked the remains of his smoke onto the concrete between Parker's legs. The brown-haired man sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. "So, it's true. The other one's awake then."

"Mummy told you, love," Dru whispered, her voice twittering excitedly. "The wind… it worries about her. Like butterfly wings."

"Yes, pet. You told me. You and every other demon this side of the equator," Spike grunted. He looked annoyed, and glared at Parker. "Who else knows about this?" The undead youngster didn't respond fast enough and found himself hauled to the eye level of the shorter vampire. "Who else knows? And don't go telling fibs again." The vampire's icy blue eyes seemed to dare Parker to try, just so Spike could make good on his threat.

"No one. Just you and Dru," Parker bit out. Spike shook him a little and morphed to vamp face, growling. "I swear! Spike, I'm telling you the truth!" Mere moments after his ardent exclamation had Parker realized what a foolish error he had made. He had known something Spike didn't want to share, and now the older vampire knew he was alone in that knowledge, with the exception of Drusilla of course. Parker wanted to slap himself.

Spike did it for him. The younger vampire spat out some blood and probed around his broken fang with his tongue. Snapping a picket free from a nearby fence Spike twirled the wood in his hands. The bleach blond vampire frowned. "Who exactly sired you?"

Parker was taken aback by the question, but his eyes never left the wooden plank in Spike's hand. "Harmony did," he said, before continuing somewhat embarrassedly. "She said it was because pretty people should live forever."

"And that they should," Spike agreed, before putting the younger vampire out of his misery. Parker Abrams let out a girlish yelp before his body deteriorated into ashes. "Figures Harmony would have made that mess. Girl's got no standards." He grinned at Dru, looking for concurrence. The willowy woman stood off to the side, grinning and waving her hands through the sparkling remains of Parker that leisurely made their way to rest on the earth. The site of her acting out such innocent play in such a morbid setting made Spike smile, and he was content to let her be for a while.

"So, that wanker Wesley has the bird, eh? Best be doing something about that."

**

* * *

Continued in the next chapter: "Jostling the Minor Pieces."**


	5. Jostling The Minor Pieces

**A/N: **bjchit, you make me smeck (smeck is laugh. i'm really into nadsat this week, which is a change from Latin.). The Buffy/Faith plot is the only one I actually haven't touched, yet. Besides, I think I'm working off canon, the Mayor/First called it too in s7. Everybody loves Buffy at some point. Except Tara and Anya, who are super-cool to not be peer-pressured, hehehehehe.

Besides, I'm just seeing if I can make this _real_ somehow. It's nice when Buffy and Faith random into each other in a graveyard, break down and apologize for doubting the other, kiss and then run off to have sex but I like my woman a little more sadistic than that.

I feel the need for Anya. I know where I want Tara to be but nobody 'onscreen' is anywhere near her yet (and should she be with Willow?). If you want a canon character in this that I haven't mentioned yet send me a message with their name and either good/neutral/naughty or bad next to it because I can't remember everyone :p Oh, and I think I'm going to have Doyle in this too, because I love the Irish.

Should I go through and delete all these A/Ns? I hate seeing myself talk. That's what the OCs are for.

Onward to the GIANT BLENDER OF APOCALYPTIC DOOM! (thanks MsTree!)

**

* * *

Previously:** _The friendship between the Council and the Army hit tremulous waters during a poorly executed rescue attempt. Was there really a grave miscalculation in the planning of the mission, or does Buffy's paranoia bare solid ground? And did anyone survive the ambush to care?_

_In Sunnydale and the surrounding areas lessons were learned that sometimes silence is worth more than gold. It can be worth the flesh on your bones and the eyes in your sockets too, depending on the company you keep.

* * *

_

**Chapter Five: "Jostling the Minor Pieces."**

* * *

"_Loneliness is about the scariest thing there is."_ – Angel

* * *

**Someone had turned the oven on and then left the house.** They had taken the dough out of the freezer, preheated the range and then cut raw mix into haphazard pieces with a blunt knife. But still, even after that insult and damage, she had trustingly let herself be placed inside the stove and waited patiently to bake. To become cookies. But as she sat alone inside the heated metal box she couldn't help but feel as if he had left her there to burn. Forgotten her, or perhaps he had been the "witch" of their tale and tricked her into the whole affair just so that he could satisfy his sweet fang. Or worse still, he had abandoned her completely by getting himself killed. 

As Buffy Summers stretched her small frame out on the tiny military-issue cot she stared at the shadows on the ceiling, wondering, for what seemed like the millionth time, the fate of her knight in leather dusters. _Angel._ It was times like this, in the middle of a quiet night, that she missed him the most. Even though he was cold like a stone when he held her in his arms she wouldn't feel so small and vulnerable. And if she held onto him long enough, tight enough, he would begin to warm because of her. Heating him, like the sun on a river stone, to make him feel _real._ More real than life.

Her tent was dark, and lonely, with only the quiet snores of her bunkmate Percy to break the stillness. Willow had given her a weird smile, saying that it was probably best she not sleep alone with all the ornery soldiers surrounding her, before retiring to her tent. Buffy caught sight of Oz watching the redhead leave and they shared a look before the werewolf turned back to silently witness a discussion between the Lieutenant and his XO. The Lieutenant's jaw had been clenched, and he didn't look all too pleased with the older man. Something about almost being blown to smithereens brings out the Doberman in people.

A snuffling to the left of her, followed by a whimper about broccoli, made the Slayer's mind up. She kicked off the rough, grey blanket and slipped on her sneakers before exiting the tent, and leaving Percy to dream about marauding vegetables in peace. The temperature dropped noticeably once she was fully outside and Buffy shivered in her t-shirt. Movement was always the best way to keep warm and the Slayer instinctively began patrolling the outer edge of the campsite, avoiding the stalwart sentries in US military apparel.

The desert was dead quiet. Even their little camping grounds were silent. The tents were dark and filled with sleeping occupants, and Buffy felt envious. She wished that she could join them in their unconscious ignorance, but sleep was something she was having trouble finding lately. The same could be said for the Osborne tent, glowing like a lantern on the far side of camp. Buffy sighed and moved toward the light like a moth to the flame.

She knew she shouldn't be intruding. They were fighting again, silently, strained and hushed, so they wouldn't be overheard. Buffy could tell. Back in Los Angeles her parents were much the same. The loud ripping sound of a zipper alerted the Slayer and she ducked into the shadows of a LUV. The tent door was thrown open and Willow stormed out, leaving Oz standing in the doorway with a defeated look on his face. Taking a breath and then counting to ten, to make sure Willow wasn't going to return, Buffy thought about all the things she could say to the man to make it sting a little less.

Like a glacier she remained hidden in the night's shadows, cold, silent, unmoving, and blank.

* * *

The Citroen was cruising up route one at a leisurely pace. Wesley grunted, and pushed his foot down onto the clutch, shifting the gear awkwardly with his left hand across his body. The right lay tangled in a torn sheet and braced with a tire iron. He had… _fallen_ down some stairs once, as a young lad, and broken the same arm, but it seemed to hurt more the second time around. Maybe it was because Faith had insisted on twisting the limb so unnaturally crooked, before realising she had perhaps overdone it and snapping the mangled bones back into a semblance of their former position. 

He didn't remember screaming, or hitting the concrete, but he remembered the spots that danced before his eyes and his liquid diet churning in the pit of his bowels. The Watcher felt himself slipping from conscious reality, but forced himself awake. He could have the luxury of dropping down dead away from the boots of Faith, where she couldn't kick him into a new shape. And so Wesley had hauled his shaky body back to a vaguely upright position and told the girl to get her shit and get in the fucking car before he changed his God damned mind about the whole affair.

The Slayer's eyes had glinted dangerously in the dim light of a sickle-shaped moon but she had acquiesced and retrieved her things before climbing into the back seat of the car, making herself comfortable while Wesley staggered over. She barely raised an eyebrow as he rummaged under the passenger side seat looking for something to steady the broken limb. And now to all pretences the Slayer had gone to sleep in the back.

Wesley knew better. She was awake. She wouldn't sleep, not until the Slayer in her was satisfied she was secure. Faith was merely ignoring him, and feigning sleep was the most convenient way of doing so. His gaze drifted up toward the rear-view mirror. Faith's head rested against the headrest, her booted feet propped up on the backseat. In her lap sat the bag that Wesley had retrieved from what was once the Slayer's apartment. One of the girl's hands was tucked into the bag, and Wesley had a sneaking suspicion that her new friend, mister kitchen knife, was securely in the Slayer's grasp.

Except, if that was the case, then why could he see the faintest hint of pink fur tangled in the zipper?

* * *

In that moment the pale orb before him was his everything. The glowing, pearly luminesce was his world, he was drawn to it, consumed by it. He craved it with every inch of his being. More importantly, so did the wolf. 

It felt like every nerve ending was alive, awake and alert. A moment of clarity occurred, where his senses where attuned to the very dirt in the earth itself and Oz savored the seconds because he knew what was to follow. What Willow had inflicted upon him.

A howl ripped through his throat, a pained and mournful cry that drew the attention of all those not engaged in combat. His skin was stretched and pulled taunt in a million and one different places as his body transformed into a new Oz. Bones elongated, muscles contorted into caricatures of their former selves. He could hear the cartilage inside his ears shifting. He could see six different soldiers aiming three different kinds of weapon at him. He could taste the blood of his mate on the summer night's air.

That was all it took. The wolf went wild.

Oz bolted upright in his bunk, drenched in a thin layer of sweat. His body trembled slightly as he shook off the after-effects of the nightmare. It was only a replaying of the day's events but it felt like no amount of scrubbing could wash the blood off his hands. The wolf had been brutally savage, tearing through the chaos demons as if they were tissue paper. The rampage had ended only after Willow's spell had worn off, and had left Oz a stunned heap strewn atop what appeared to have been the remains of a dinosaur. Thankfully the LUVs carried blankets in their standard kits, so not all of Oz's pride was stripped from him in a single day.

His hands grasped at the grey blankets, searching for his wife, but the redhead was nowhere to be found. Their meager possessions inside the tent had not been disturbed, nor had the small gap he always left open in the zipper been altered. Oz always liked to leave a gap for the breeze so he could smell the night air. Willow complained of the cold.

It felt like a violation on her part. A violation of his fundamental right to choose. The curse of Lycanthropy meant that for three nights every month he underwent a physical and mental change and he became something more powerful than the human Oz. He became a werewolf. He was at peace with that fact now, and so, on the three nights of the natural transformation the wolf was at peace with him. It was just what he was.

But when Willow had first used the spell on him, had first _forced_ the wolf into physical being that harmony was lost. He had killed _people._ Humans. Innocents. He was out of control as the wolf. It had gone insane under the false moon. That didn't mean those deaths weren't on his hands.

That was the only time in their entire marriage that Oz had found the need to forbid his wife from anything. That spell was to never be used again. Never be touched, looked upon, thought of. Nothing. But she had done it again, and she wouldn't even acknowledge that she was wrong.

How were they supposed to have a stable partnership if Willow wasn't even going to discuss his concerns with him? When he had proposed to her four months ago it was with the intention of promising to her that they would be together beyond this. When she had not only agreed, but insist they be married only a few months later Oz had thought at the time her reaction had been in support of that wish. Now he wasn't so sure.

* * *

"So, like, I don't get it?" Harmony tilted her head and regarded Spike with her bright blue eyes. If he didn't know better he would swear that the stupid girl was flirting with him. Hell, he knew better and the girl was flirting with him. She was half draped over the centre glove compartment from the back seat of Spike's Camaro, fiddling with the radio controls, effectively dividing the car into two. Dru hissed and Harmony shied further away from the older vampire and closer to Spike. 

Spike picked another fleck of dried black paint off the windscreen and let the rubbery strip flutter free out the window of the moving vehicle, ignoring the interaction between the two women. He knew Dru didn't get along with Harmony. Drusilla was rarely friendly to anyone beside her vampiric "family" and Miss Edith. And it wasn't like he particularly liked Harmony very much either. "Was that a question?" Spike asked the blond girl in the back drearily.

"I don't know. You wanna answer it anyway?"

The bleached vampire growled and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in annoyance. He wasn't sure how much more blond he could take. Harmony had asked to tag along for the ride and Spike had thought it would be a good idea if she joined them. After all, he could just throw Harmony at the Slayer to buy him some time before he kicked the supernatural warrior's ass. "We're going to get the Slayer from the wanker."

The girl looked perplexed for a moment. "Wesley has Buffy?" she asked, actually catching on to half of the sentence. The bubbly blond twisted the radio dial again and listened for a moment. The sounds of the Sex Pistols echoed throughout the car before Harmony flicked the station yet again. Spike recognised the song. _"Anarchy in the UK."_ The first time he had heard it had been a live performance. He smiled at the memory of Sid calling out abuse to Nancy Spungen from the stage. They had made such a lovely couple.

"Hey, that was alright!"

"I don't get why he'd want her," she continued, ignoring Spike. Or perhaps, oblivious to Spike. Sometimes it was so hard to tell. "I mean, hello? Leopard prints with a mauve cardigan? What good is a woman who can't fashionably colour-ordinate?" Drusilla, whose attention had been previously occupied by her doll, turned her gaze toward Harmony. The girl gulped, and then finally sat back down in her seat. She smiled sweetly, stupidly, and waved her fingers at the brunette vampire. "Oh, my God, Dru. I totally didn't mean you. That black-widow look you've got going is so… so… In! So totally in right now!"

Dru's head lolled to one side and she stared at Harmony with her wide-eyed gaze. "I don't like you," the crazed vampire began. A smile slowly curled the edges of her lips. Her voice held a coquettish note. "You say bad things about me." Spike's gaze wandered from the road to his sire for a brief moment. Dru's welfare had always been his primary concern, beyond topping Angelus, so he had thought it best to keep her ears and eyes closed to the things that went about behind her back. He had hoped to keep Dru ignorant to all the nasty little rumors Harmony and her like spread about the old breed. There were too many fresh vampires running about and not enough of the older ones to wrangle them all in. Parker was evidence to the case.

"Drusilla," Harmony whined, sounding oddly indignant. "I would never-"

"Miss Edith said bad things about me," Dru continued without pause. "I took her eyes as punishment," she whispered, holding up the doll for all to see. Fresh burns swathed Miss Edith's rubber flesh. The distinctive spirals the car-lighter soldered into the synthetic skin were still smoking. Spike grinned. Always with the eyes. They were the windows to the soul after all. Still, Miss Edith was looking rather haggard lately.

Harmony cringed at the sight of the mutilated child's toy. "That's nice."

A click sounded, breaking the staring contest between Harmony and the sightless doll. Dru purred and pulled the heated lighter free from the console before continuing her ministrations. Once more the acrid smell of melting plastic filled the car. Spike wondered why he hadn't noticed it before. Probably because, as a vampire, he no longer needed to breath and so had stopped doing so all together. Vampirism had its perks. Never growing old, never dying young. Never ever disappearing into the darkness of history. Provided you didn't get yourself staked first.

"So, how did Wesley get Buffy?" Harmony asked, having found her voice once more.

"The wanker doesn't have Buffy, you twit." Spike said, not bothering to soften his words. They just seemed to flow off her like she was scotch-guarded or something anyway. "He's got the other one."

"Oh." He watched her in the rear-view mirror as she processed that. Spike thought that if he squinted just right he could actually see the rusty wheels turning in Harmony's mind. _"Oh,"_ she repeated, with a little more emotion this time. So the stupid bint could actually put two and two together.

Beside him Drusilla giggled like a young girl, her slender fingers buried in the empty sockets that once held Miss Edith's eyes. "A fox hunt!" she exclaimed. "Chase her down with our sticks and stones." She took Spike's hand in her own and gave it a firm squeeze. "Can you smell her, dear heart? Can you smell the puppy? Like cinnamon and ginger and fear." Dru inhaled deeply, taking exquisite pleasure in something only she could smell. "We know just what to do with puppies, don't we Spike?"

"That we do, pet," Spike agreed amicably. He licked his pale, cold lips squeezed her hand back. "We most certainly do." The Judge had claimed that the pair stunk of humanity. He let that affection shine in his eyes as he gazed upon the dead woman, hoping to convey to how strongly he felt for his sire. And how strong his desire for her was. Drusilla preened under his scrutiny.

Harmony stared at Dru, her pretty eyes wide. "You don't hurt puppies. Tell me you don't hurt puppies."

Drusilla seemed shocked. "Only if they've been very, very naughty. I'm not a complete monster."

* * *

She found him sitting alone in the darkness of the predawn. The room was constructed of a series of formless shadows, so it wasn't until Oz spoke that Willow had realised he was awake in his corner. "Hey." She could here the betrayal in his voice. She had heard it so many times before. 

"Hey."

"See, I like that you're predictable with the response greeting. That way I have time to think of a perfect reply before I even talk to you."

Willow wasn't blind to the underlying hostility in her husband's tones. "You think that was the perfect reply?"

"Perfect is overrated." Oz sighed. He rose stiffly and moved toward the bed, sitting as far from his wife as possible. He hung his head in his hands and his shoulders drooped. "I just don't know what to say anymore, Wills."

"I-" She paused and stopped the words tumbling from her tongue. _"I thought I was justified." _How could he not understand? At the time they needed the wolf more than they needed Oz. Lives would have been lost had Willow not cast the lunar spell. The wicca felt her actions completely reasonable, but from her husbands downcast position on the edge of the bunk she doubted that was what Oz needed to hear. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"It's not that easy."

It felt like the millionth time they'd had the same argument. The same fight about the same thing. The same words came out of his mouth, and in her frustration Willow followed her own steps in their verbal dance. "Well, what do you want me to do?" she snapped. "Reverse time and take it back?" A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped her cherry lips. "Cause I could probably-" Oz's head whipped around with a speed she thought he only had in his more primal form. His eyes narrowed at his wife and his jaw was set in a grim expression. She had to force her feet from taking a step back away from the man's challenging gaze. Now was probably the wrong time to bring that up. "Joke. I don't think I could really-"

Angrily the werewolf spat out his words. "You know what? Can we not do this now? I'm tired." He climbed into his bunk and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, rolling away from the redhead to face the tent wall in a final act of rejection for the evening.

Willow took a deep breath, trying to alleviate the constriction in her chest and the stinging in her eyes her lover's dismissal had stirred up. "Okay," she began shakily, before coming to a decision in her mind. If Oz wouldn't let it go, she'd just have to dispose of it for him. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her jeans and she removed a sprig of Lethe's bramble. The wicca caressed the soft purple petals of the flowers, focusing her energies on the gift of nature and focusing her mind on the Latin chant that accompanied the enchantment. "Let's just forget it ever happened." Oz didn't respond, his silence and stoicism an obvious disagreement.

Her eyes seemed to fill with shadows for a moment as she whispered the verbal requirement of the spell. "Forget." The palm of Willow's hand warmed suddenly, as if she had grabbed a lit candle, but the heat quickly transferred to the bramble. White light moved from Willow skin to completely engulf the cutting for a moment. When it passed the once fresh and healthy herb was dead and wilted.

The blankets rustled as she climbed into bed with Oz. He rolled over, automatically pulling her into his arms and Willow smiled contentedly, burying her head into his chest. "I wanna ask you where you've been, but I'm worried about the answer," he began, a twinkle in his eyes. His face straightened to a solemn look, but Willow could hear the humor in his voice. "It's not that I don't trust you, but there are all these manly army men around…"

Willow's heart warmed to the gentle teasing of her husband and she snuggled deeper into his embrace until they were both squished into the same stretcher. Oz shifted a little to accommodate her. "If it helps any I'm gonna say I was just checking up on Buffy," she answered, forcing as much sincerity into her words as she could muster.

She felt Oz nod and then kiss the top of her head lightly. "That does help. It creates a comfort zone." His smile returned. "Where've you been?"

"Just checking up on Buffy."

"That's nice." Oz yawned sleepily. "She okay?"

"Yeah," Willow replied, her own eyes closing slowly. But before she drifted off she found herself questioning Oz once more that evening. "So, uh… you're not mad?"

"'Bout what?" her husband mumbled. He was practically asleep.

Willow smiled to herself and closed her eyes.

* * *

It was like sitting on a beanbag of candyfloss, cushioned from all sides gently, bouncing lightly with the breeze that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The sky was white and all around him, with faint purple storm clouds raging in the distance. But those where behind him, and therefore felt out of his concern. And the woman in front of him demanded more of his immediate attention because the last time he had seen her she had been dead for a good two hours. All together it could only mean one thing. He was dreaming again. 

Dreaming of her face. Dreaming of her deep hazel eyes. Dreaming of the dark brown hair that gently brushed her shoulders, the flawless skin that always seemed so gently sun-kissed. Dreaming of the aura of calmness, and happiness that she had spread to all those around her. Dreaming of the way she had loved, and been loved in return.

Dreaming again of the way it had felt when he had snapped her neck.

Angel blanched in his sleep as Jenny Calender took her turn. This avatar of his victim unleashed blame and guilt that seared his soul, and he took the punishment from the ghost that resided in his mind. It was all he could do, to endure the cycle of abuse over and over again until he would awaken from his slumber. Finally having felt her fury fully unleashed Janna of the Kalderash people returned to her shadowy alcove in the recesses of Angel's mind and the next in a long line of vengeful specters took her place. Sometimes he recognized them, maybe knew their name, or where he had murdered them, but most of the time Angel found that the ghosts were anonymous, faceless and formless, and infinite.

Some nagging, almost childlike voice would occasionally whine that it wasn't his fault, the demon Angelus had been the one who had slaughtered thousands of humans like no less than cattle, but the whimper was growing quieter with each passing day. How could he not believe it, when it was screamed at him by a million voices inside his own mind?

And how could he not believe it when at the bottom of his soul he felt it to be true? The demon did little but act upon the urges and desires of the body it lived within. Without the ambition, the raw want of power that gave Angelus purpose could the Scourge really come to be? Would he create the most monstrous offspring he could imagine? Would he have spent so many hours of so many days and nights thinking of the perfect way to tell Buffy exactly how he had killed everyone in her self-constructed family?

Angel shook himself awake, blinking dimly in the darkness. For long moments he was blinded, and patiently the vampire listened to the steady creaking of the chains that held up his suspended cage. After so long in such dim light even the vampire's night vision had been stripped from him. They had taken that, his strength, his dignity, and at times his sanity, them left him humiliated and beaten in a swinging cage like a fragile and wingless bird. They had stolen so much from him, even the time he could have spent dreaming about his lost love, but there was one thing Angel still lay claim to and would not surrender easily. His eternal soul. Through one slitted eye the vampire examined his familiar habitat.

Surrounding him was the chrome bars of his cage, the metallic construct that had been his home for so long now. The tiny pinprick of light that was centered in the middle of Angel's box was on, as usual, illuminating the steel floor and the vampire's own withered body but doing little to keep the shadows that surrounded his cage at bay. The scraps of clothing that served only his modesty rustled stiffly with dried blood as he pushed himself into a sitting position, careful not to smack his head against the ceiling of the small cage. There was barely enough room to fit the vampire's emaciated form as it was. How they had fit a struggling, cursing, wounded Angel into this rat-hole in the first place was a mystery to him, but the door of the cage had been welded shut after that day, and no one had bothered to open it since.

He had wondered if he were alone in his imprisonment, or if the others had been captured as time went by as well, but those thoughts had faded along with his hopes of escaping and the feeling in his feet.

Time had no meaning in his perpetual stillness. Angel's eyelids felt heavy again and he pinched himself solidly in the arm in a futile attempt to stay awake. Without fresh blood running through his system, without that precious hemoglobin that carried the life-giving oxygen through his muscles and organs, the vampire's centuries old body was slowly shutting down. His limbs felt as though they were coated in lead and even small movement was a labor. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay awake as time passed, and each time he regained consciousness his lucidity decreased by dear minutes. Angel could feel the day approaching where his body would finally give in and his mind would remain with the ghosts inside of his head until his bones were like ashes.

To his left the outline of a door appeared, a rectangle of white in the ebon black. The door creaked open, and for the first time in so long Angel caught a glimpse of life beyond his cage, and beyond his dark hole in the earth. A slow shock ran through his system, building until he had found the energy to react. His throat was shredded after nights of screaming, and his broken will gave the normally deep voice a pathetic edge. But still, the gorgeous blond smiled as he recognized her, and moved closer to embrace her captive "son."

"Darla…"

* * *

They had crossed the Golden Gate Bridge during the predawn in San Francisco. Faith had actually been to the city before, on her way to Sunnydale. Not by choice, the Frisco stopover had been part of the route the bus she hopped had taken. Her first time had left her head reeling in the sights and sounds and scents the bay side city had to offer. But she never remembered it feeling so grey. Even in the darkness of the night the Slayer could feel that the city had changed. It had lost the sparkle that had enticed her to stop her mad-dash to Sunnydale and just take a breather. It had been the only city she had willingly taken pause in between Kakistos and Buffy's side. 

Wesley pulled up in front of an old restaurant and shut off the engine. "You're waiting here for the day." That didn't sound like a suggestion. It sounded like an order. Faith ground her teeth together, and flexed her fingers loose from the white-knuckle grip they had on her bag.

"Say that again?" she growled out. "C'mon. I dare ya."

He shook his head defiantly, though still refused to turn his attention from the road to face her. "I'm not playing your stupid little games, Faith," he responded sharply. She couldn't remember ever hearing a tone like that in his voice before. Never, not even when she had publicly humiliated the little wuss. "I need to check up on the target, and make sure that it will be where it needs to be tonight. I'll pick you up at dusk." He reached across the central compartment to the passenger seat, exposing his back and neck vulnerably in a rather ballsy way, but the Slayer's mind was elsewhere.

"Tonight…?" she whispered, but thankfully the creaking mechanism drowned out the hushed word as the seat flipped forward. Quickly she opened the car door and was outside the vehicle before Wesley could straighten his position. _Tonight?_ Faith repeated the question in her mind, not quite having a grip on it.

Wesley narrowed his eyes at the conflicted girl, obviously sensing some kind of distress. "Yes, Faith. Tonight," he stated snidely. She flinched slightly, and immediately chastised herself for even acknowledging the man. How he had heard her comment she didn't for the life of her know. Slayer hearing would have had trouble picking up the softly spoken word. "What did you think we would do? Stalk him for a little bit first? This isn't some movie or TV serial."

The Slayer blinked, and the sneered right back at the man, slipping back into automatic. "Nah, it's cool. Better get it over and done before your balls drop off and you decide to call it quits."

Wesley nodded and turned the key back on. She wondered why he had even bothered to shut the motor off anyway. Probably to get her attention. She hadn't spoken a word since Santa Maria, and her silent withdrawal seemed to have gotten under the wooden Brit's skin. He moved to shift the Citroen into gear and she found herself running to the front of the car and slamming both hands down onto the bonnet hard enough to dent the metal in an attempt to get him to stop. He slammed his foot on the brakes more out of shock than anything. "What do you think you are doing?"

Faith stared at him, verbally helpless for a moment, before her mind came up with a valid reason to get him to stay for just a few moments longer. "At least tell me who it is, Wes."

"Faith, I have to-"

The soft hands of a teenage girl crunched into the hood and Faith gave him a look that could almost have been "please."

"You know him." Her whiskey eyes silently demanded the answer. _Who?_ "Rupert Giles."

**

* * *

Continued in the next chapter: "Zugzwang." **


End file.
